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Concordia and Discordia in Livy’s republicRoman politics in Ab urbe condita books 21-45

Cosnett, Steven Baillie

Awarding institution:King's College London

Download date: 19. Apr. 2020

1

CONCORDIA AND DISCORDIA IN LIVY’S REPUBLIC:

ROMAN POLITICS IN AB URBE CONDITA BOOKS 21-45

Steven Baillie Cosnett

Thesis submitted to King’s College London

in completion of the degree of

Doctor of Philosophy in Classics

September 2017

2

Abstract

This thesis offers a comprehensive critical analysis of Livy's portrayal of Roman

politics in Books 21-45. Although Livy's history provides the most detailed account

of politics in the 'middle' or 'classical' Republic, as yet there has been no major study

devoted to this important topic specifically. Books 21-45 cover a period of Roman

history usually identified in antiquity as Rome’s apogee: the republic faced, and

overcame, its greatest external threat in the form of Hannibal during the Second Punic

War (covered in Books 21-30), then began a period of unhindered overseas conquest

(the beginning of which is recounted in Books 31-45). In Roman historiography,

success in these ventures was predicated on domestic stability and political harmony.

As such, politics plays a relatively small part in a narrative devoted primarily to

foreign affairs and warfare.

This thesis is intended in part to explicate how order and cohesion – concordia

– is maintained in these books, but it also examines cases in which the political order

is disrupted, and considers the implications of this discordia for Livy’s conception of

the Roman polity. It concludes that these books of Livy’s history illustrate Roman

politics at its best, and offer lessons on how the state can function efficiently and

peacefully. The era that Livy describes is not without conflict, but these conflicts are

typically confronted and dealt with successfully, with the different organs of state (the

senate, the consulate, and the tribunate) working together with due deference to the

wisdom of worthy individuals and to the collective authority of the senatorial order.

But these books represent only a fragment of Livy’s narrative, and this thesis argues

that they also serve to foreshadow the disorders that will beset the res publica in later

books.

3

MATRI

OPTIMAE

4

Table of contents

Acknowledgements 6

Texts and Abbreviations 7

Introduction 8

1 Ab urbe condita: Context and Conception

Introduction 15

1.1 An apolitical historian? 15

1.2 An apolitical historian: the evidence reconsidered 25

1.3 Reassessing Livy’s background and the context of his work 35

1.4 Livy’s pessimistic history 45

Conclusion 55

2 Creating concordia

Introduction 57

2.1 Magistrates and leading citizens 57

2.2 Tribunes of the plebs 62

2.3 Oratory in Roman politics 100

Conclusion 118

3 Creating discordia and Maintaining concordia

Introduction 119

3.1 Magistrates and leading citizens 119

3.2 Tribunes of the plebs 133

3.3 Oratory in Roman politics 155

Conclusion 158

4 Discordia Deferred

Introduction 159

4.1 Scipio Africanus’ problematic greatness 159

4.3 Oratory and politics before the Battle of Cannae 179

5

Conclusion 202

Bibliography 216

6

Acknowledgements

Without the help of Henrik Mouritsen this thesis would quite simply not have been

written. To his efforts I owe my place at King’s College London and the generous

funding I have received from the Graduate School. This thesis has been thought out,

written, and immeasurably improved under his supervision and that of Dominic

Rathbone, and whatever virtue it possesses it owes to their advice and efforts on my

behalf. Most of my research was conducted at the Institute of Classical Studies

Library, at which I have also had the good fortune to work for the past two years; I

am grateful to the library staff for their help, and for welcoming me into their team.

My time as a doctoral student has been made more fruitful and interesting thanks to

the colleagues with whom I have had the priviledge to organise the Postgraduate

Work-in-Progress Seminar at the ICS, Tom Coward and Jeff Vietch, and two

postgraduate conferences at King’s, Valeria Valotto, Rebecca Van Hove, Giacomo

Fedeli, and Justin Yoo. They have my gratitude, too, for the friendship they have

showed me, as do a great many others, among them Ellie Mackin, Helena Meskanen,

Gabrielle Villais, Chris Smith, Naomi Scott, Bobby Xinyue, Andy Roberts, Eleanor

Betts, Emma Cole, Claire Millington, Roel Konijnendijk, Alex Millington, Bob

Taylor, Sofia Piacentin, Ralph Lange, Daniel and Hollie Press, Helen Tanner and

Chris Mallan, and Caitlin Prouatt. I owe special thanks to my old friends and

sometime-flatmates Sean ‘Clock’ O’Sullivan and David ‘BigDog’ Schneider for

furnishing me with almost endless distractions, without which my time in London

would have been significantly less enjoyable; and to Kat Speers, for her support and

patience during this long process. Finally, I owe my mother more than I can

competently express in writing: my gratitude to her is exceeded only by the love and

support she has shown me, all these years.

S. C.

7

Texts and Abbreviations

This thesis uses the most recent Oxford Classical Text editions for the Latin text of

Livy Books 1-10 (Ogilvie 1974; Walters, rev. Conway 1938) and 21-25 (Briscoe

2016), and the Teubner editions for the text of Books 26-45 (Walsh 1982; 1986;

Briscoe 1986; 1991) and the Periochae (Rossbach 1910). The texts of other ancient

works quoted below generally derive from the most recent Teubner editions, although

for Cicero’s De legibus and Caesar’s Bellum ciuile the newer OCTs (by Powell 2006

and Damon 2015 respectively) have been used, as have Maurenbrecher’s edition of

the fragments of Sallust’s Historiae (1893), Clark’s OCT edition of Asconius (1907),

Boissevain’s Cassius Dio (1895-1901), Scheid’s Budé edition of the Res gestae diui

Augusti (2007), and Skutsch’s Annales of Ennius (1986). All translations from Latin

and Greek are my own.

Ancient authors and their works are cited according to the abbreviations

used in S. Hornblower, A. Spawforth, and E. Eidinow edd., The Oxford Classical

Dictionary, 4th edn. (Oxford: 2012). For ancient works not listed in the OCD, the

following abbreviations are used:

Cic. Rab. perd.

Nep. Cat.

Suet. Vita Verg.

= Cicero, Pro C. Rabirio perduellionis reo

= Cornelius Nepos, Cato

= Suetonius, Vita Vergili

Abbreviations for modern works are listed below.

CIL

FIRA

FRH

= 1863– . Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. Leipzig.

= Riccobono, S. et al. 1940-43. Fontes Iuris Romani

Anteiustiniani. 2nd edn. Florence.

= Cornell, T. J. ed. 2013. The Fragments of the Roman

Historians. Vols. 1-3. Oxford.

ILS

Malcovati, ORF

MRR

= Dessau, H. 1892-1916. Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae.

Berlin.

= Malcovati, H. ed. 1976. Oratorum Romanorum Fragmenta:

Liberae Rei Publicae. 4th edn. Vol. 1. Turin. 1st edn. 1953.

= Broughton, T. R. S. 1951. The Magistrates of the Roman

Republic. Vol. 1. New York.

Peter, HRR

RE

= Peter, H. 1914. Historicorum Romanorum Reliquiae. Vol.

1. 2nd edn. Leipzig. 1st edn. 1870.

= Pauly, A., Wissowa, G. and Kroll, W. 1893– . Real-

Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft.

Stuttgart.

8

Introduction

…for from the days of the Tarquins to those of the Gracchi, which

was more than three hundred years, tumults in Rome seldom led to

banishment, and very seldom to executions. One cannot, therefore,

regard such tumults as harmful, nor such a republic as divided, seeing

that during so long a period it did not on account of its discords send

into exile more than eight or ten citizens, put very few to death, and

did not on many impose fines.

– Machiavelli, Discorsi sopra la prima deca di Tito Livio 1.4

What seemed obvious to Niccolò Machiavelli – that Livy’s history of ancient Rome,

the Ab urbe condita, was a fundamentally political text – did not seem obvious to

many who studied Livy’s work during the twentieth century. For a long time the

political aspects of the AUC were neglected and overlooked, because the author

himself was imagined to have been essentially uninterested in politics. This view can

be found in many of the more influential treatments of Livy’s work. In his assessment

of Augustan authors in The Roman Revolution (1939), Ronald Syme interprets Livy

in light of his social background, as a member of what he considers the ‘pacific and

non-political order’ in Roman society.1 Syme has adjusted his view of the historian

somewhat in a later article (1959), but still regards him as representative of a

‘nonpolitical’ class.2 P. G. Walsh’s important monograph (1961) depicts Livy as ‘a

man of purely literary interests’ who dedicated his life to his writing.3 R. M. Ogilvie,

in his commentary on the first pentad (1965), follows Walsh’s lead by stressing Livy’s

literary preoccupations.4 His Livy is therefore not especially interested in conveying

‘political or moral lessons’ per se so much as in giving the great characters and pivotal

moments of Roman antiquity the lavish treatment they merited; he is a ‘small man,

detached from affairs’ of his own time.5 The influence of this perception of Livy and

his work can been seen in recent surveys of ancient historiography: John Marincola

(1997), echoing Ogilvie, calls the historian ‘an apolitical man’ whose aim was to

‘enshrine the great deeds’ of the characters who made Roman great, rather than to

provide political instruction; Christina S. Kraus (1997) describes Livy as

1 Syme 1939: 465. 2 Syme 1959: 74. 3 Walsh 1961: 9. 4 Ogilvie 1965: 5, 25. 5 Ogilvie 1965: 24-5; cf. 2, 5.

9

‘fundamentally detached from politics’; Ronald Mellor (1999) asserts that he was ‘not

politically engaged’; Andreas Mehl (2011) refers to his ‘political abstinence’.6

The idea that Livy was an apolitical author, its surprising tenacity

notwithstanding, usually rests on a combination of dubious premises and outdated

perceptions. Many of these relate to the little that is known about the historian himself.

Others, however, rest on an understanding of Roman politics which has long since

been supplanted by a new, more dynamic vision of the Roman Republic.

Here is how Ronald Syme describes the late Republican political system in

The Roman Revolution:

The political life of the Roman Republic was stamped and swayed…by

the strife for power, wealth and glory. The contestants were the nobiles

among themselves, as individuals or in groups, open in the elections

and in the courts of law, or masked by secret intrigue. As in its

beginning, so in its last generation, the Roman Commonwealth, ‘res

publica populi Romani’, was a name; a feudal order of society still

survived in a city-state and governed an empire. Noble families

determined the history of the Republic[.]7

Syme’s view of Roman politics reflects his belief that ‘oligarchy lurks behind the

façade’ of all forms of government.8 Whether or not they shared his belief, many of

Syme’s contemporaries conceived of Republican politics in much the same way.9 In

part, this reflects an understanding of the res publica that prevailed for much of the

twentieth century, whereby the res publica was treated, anachronistically, as a state in

the modern sense of the term, with clearly defined constitutional norms and a distinct

sphere of government. It was natural, therefore, to confine politics to the formal

political class represented by the senate. As Livy does not appear to have been a

senator – at any rate, in none of the handful of biographical references is he described

as such – it was equally natural to assume that he had no familiarity with politics. This

perception of Roman politics was also justified by the hypothesis, developed by

Matthias Gelzer, that Roman society was permeated by networks of patronage through

which the ruling class exerted influence over clientelae composed of the lower

6 Kraus 1997: 72; cf. 73: ‘a non-participant in the political…world he describes’; Marincola 1997: 29;

Mellor 1999: 71; Mehl 2011: 100. 7 Syme 1939: 11-12. 8 Syme 1939: 7. Syme’s formulation echoes Robert Michels’ ‘Iron Law of Oligarchy’ (1915), though it is uncertain whether Syme was familiar with Michels’ work: see Ober 1996: 21. 9 Syme’s dictum is paraphrased by Earl 1963: 7. Ober 1996: 21-22 stresses Syme’s influence on the

modern studies of ancient politics, Athenian as well as Roman.

10

orders.10 As clients beholden to their senatorial patrons, a large proportion of Roman

citizens was held to have had little real political autonomy, and hence was excluded

from political analyses. Thus, in the early and middle decades of the last century,

studies of Roman politics tended to focus on the senate and in particular on its internal

dynamics.11

In the latter part of the twentieth century, however, the theoretical

underpinnings for these approaches were challenged, as indeed was the very

perception of the Roman Republic as an oligarchy. 12 Consequently, the narrow

senatorial focus of earlier studies has been largely superseded by a broader discussion

about the practice and cultural basis of politics at Rome. Without denying the

centrality of the senate, and of the nobiles in particular, to the functioning of the res

publica, current analyses of Republican politics admit a wider conception of politics,

one which extends beyond the internal contests of formal political élite of the office-

holding class. The character of politics at Republican Rome is understood to have been

more open and public than Syme’s oligarchic arcana imperii imply: greater attention

is therefore devoted to the contiones and the comitia, where the political class and the

10 Gelzer 1912: 43-82. Gelzer’s influence is widely detectable in subsequent discussions of Roman

politics, e.g.; Taylor 1949: 7, 41-7; Suolahti 1955: 15; Badian 1958: 1-13 and passim; Scullard 1959:

6-7; Earl 1963: 7-8 and passim; Syme 1964: 171; Astin 1967: 27, 28 and passim; Brunt 1971a: 48-50;

Crawford 1992: 27-9. 11 Some scholars, following Mommsen, viewed Roman politics within a framework of the ostensible

opposition between optimates and populares, representing conservative oligarchic and democratic or populist tendencies within the senatorial élite: e.g. Marsh 1935; Taylor 1949; cf. Scullard 1959: 7-8.

More, however, concentrated instead on recreating the personal relationships and alignments of

senators (often described in terms of the ‘factions’ or ‘parties’ referred to above), believing this the key

to understanding the political history of the res publica. This trend is most pronounced among scholars

who used prosopography to reconstruct élite networks: the method was pioneered by Friedrich Münzer

in his influential Römische Adelsparteien und Adelsfamilien (1920) (Gelzer 1912: 102-15 had also

postulated the existence of factions during the middle and late Republic); other notable examples of

this approach include Schur 1927, esp. 105-41; Syme 1939; Scullard 1951; Cassola 1962; Earl 1963;

Gruen 1968; its influence is also apparent in e.g. Scullard 1935: 354-60; Taylor 1949: 7-9, 33-6; Syme

1961: 171-3; Astin 1967: 80-96; Gruen 1974: esp. 47-82, 102-20. 12 The existence of ‘factions’, sustained political alliances among the senatorial order, was challenged

by Develin 1985: 43-88 and passim; Hölkeskamp 1987: 13-17, 41-61; Brunt 1988: 443-502; cf. 1971a:

68; even some of the earlier exponents of the factional model expressed reservations about the efficacy

of the approach and about the character of ostensible political groupings, e.g. Astin 1967, 80, 95-96;

The importance of patronage and clientelae, as they were traditionally understood, to Roman politics

was questioned by: Millar 1984: 2, 13-14; 1986, esp. 4-5; Develin 1985: 127-32, 325-8; Brunt 1988:

382-42; Wallace-Hadrill 1989: esp. 68-71; Morstein-Marx 1998: esp. 274-83; Yakobson 1999: 65-123; Mouritsen 2001: 67-79, 96-100, 137-8. For general challenges to the oligarchic conception of the

res publica, see e.g. Millar 1984; 1986; 1989; 1998, esp. 197-226; Yakobson 1999, esp. 228-33; 2004,

esp. 396-8.

11

populus interfaced.13 Meanwhile, studies of the political élite, rather than attempting

to reconstruct factions, now tend to focus on analysing the formal rôle of the

magistrates and the senate, and the values and traditions that regulated the functions

of both. 14 These studies constitute one important dimension of a more general

discussion of Roman political culture, a concept that encompasses both the day-to-day

practice of politics and its cultural underpinnings, including the rhetoric, rituals,

symbols, social structures, moral attitudes, and unspoken assumptions that together

sustained and legitimised the res publica as a system.15 What these approaches have

shown is that ‘politics’ during the Republic had a far wider significance than many

earlier scholars imagined, one that extends well beyond the senatorial aristocracy.

Although active participation in the politics was probably very limited, a significant

proportion of Romans (especially the inhabitants of Rome itself) was involved in the

political culture of the res publica, if only as spectators to the ceremonies and rituals

of public life.16 This is especially true of the wider upper class of which Livy was a

member. The historian need not have attended contiones often, need never have cast

a ballot, much less have been a senator, to have understood and been interested in

politics, broadly-construed.

The new understanding of Republican politics has not left Livian studies

unaffected. In recent years several scholars have approached Livy with a more

expansive understanding of political life, and their work has already shed much light

13 E.g. Yakobson 1992 (comitia centuriata); 1999 (electoral comitia and petitio); 2004 (contiones);

Pina Polo 1996 (contiones and political oratory); Millar 1998 (comitia, contiones and political oratory);

Morstein-Marx 1998 (petitio); 2004; 2013 (contiones and political oratory); Mouritsen 2001 (contiones

and comitia); 2013 (contiones); Feig Vishnia 2012 (election and electoral comitia); Jehne 2013

(contiones and political oratory); Russell 2013 (contiones and political oratory); Tan 2013 (contiones

and political oratory). 14 E.g. Ryan 1998 (the senate); Brennan 2000 (the praetorship); the contributions to the volume edited

by Beck, Duplá, Jehne and Pina Polo 2011; Pina Polo 2011 (the consulate). 15 For a concise and particularly penetrating discussion of the application of the concept of political

culture to the Roman Republic, see Hölkeskamp 2010: 53-75; cf. 2004: 7-9. On rhetoric and political

oratory, see e.g. Pina Polo 1996; Millar 1998; Hölkeskamp 2004: 219-56; Morstein-Marx 2004; Sumi

2005: 74-96; David 2010; the contributions to the volumes edited by Smith and Covino 2011 and Steel

and van der Blom 2013; Mouritsen 2017: 72-94. On the creation of political consensus, legitimacy,

and collective identity through entrenched cultural expectations and values, rituals, symbols, and

language, see e.g. Flaig 2004; Sumi 2005: 16-46 and passim; Flower 1996; 2014, esp. 393-6, 397-8; Hölkeskamp 2004: 137-98 and passim; 2010: 98-124; 2010a; 2011; 2013; Patterson 2010: 346-50;

Morstein-Marx 2011; Russell 2013. 16 On the limits of active political participation, see Mouritsen 2001: 18-37.

12

on the character of politics in the res publica as Livy conceived it.17 But the focus of

recent research lies where it did when Machiavelli’s Discorsi were published five

hundred years ago: very much on the first ten books of the AUC.18 For example,

perhaps the best of the new volumes on politics in the AUC, Ann Vasaly’s Livy’s

Political Philosophy: Power and Personality in Early Rome (2015) concentrates

entirely on the first pentad. This focus is not hard to understand, especially from the

perspective of someone interested in what Livy has to say about politics. The first

decade, and the first five books on the libera res publica in particular, fairly brim with

politics; the later books, in contrast, are more focused on external affairs, and few of

the political episodes that occur in them are as intense as those in the earlier books.

That the content of Books 21-45 is less overtly political than that of Books 1-

10 is undeniable, and there is a reason for this. Livy’s earlier books recount the

development of the Roman political order, and, as Machiavelli recognised, that

development provoked repeated bouts of discordia. The term and its cognates occur

vastly more often in the first ten books than they do in the rest: thirty-five times, all

connected with Roman internal affairs, in the Books 2-5 alone,19 with only half that

number of occurrences in Books 21-45, most relating to strife in foreign polities.20

Insofar as politics plays a more obvious rôle at moments of turmoil, the early books

are more political than the later ones. Internal affairs are simply more settled in the

years covered by the third, fourth, and fifth decades of the AUC.

These decades appear to correspond to a period of optimum internal stability

at Rome. Other historians of Rome, most obviously Sallust, regarded the age that

encompassed the Second Punic War as a golden age of political harmony, concordia

maxuma to borrow his term for it (Sall. Cat. 9.1),21 and Livy appears to have shared

this view. Indeed, there is evidence in the text that Livy even downplayed certain

17 N.B. Jaeger 1997; Chaplin 2000; Pittenger 2008; Haimson Lushkov 2015; Vasaly 2015. To this

literary studies may be added two political theoretical studies: Hammer 2008: 78-131; Kapust 2011:

81-110. 18 E.g. Miles 1995; Forsythe 1999; Vasaly 2015. This imbalance of interest is evident from the relative

space dedicated to the first decade and the rest of Livy’s work in the recent Companion to Livy (Mineo

ed. 2014): eight chapters on Books 1-10, four on Books 21-45. Pittenger 2008: 7-9 reflects on the

neglect of the later books and discusses its causes. 19 2.1.6; 2.24.1; 2.25.1; 2.29.8; 2.31.10; 2.34.1; 2.39.6; 2.42.3; 2.43.1; 2.44.7; 2.45.3; 2.54.2; 2.57.2;

2.60.4; 2.63.1; 3.17.12; 3.19.5; 3.38.3; 3.40.10; 3.65.6; 3.66.2; 3.67.6; 4.2.12; 4.26.6, 7; 2.32.2; 4.43.3;

4.46.4; 4.47.8; 4.48.14; 4.52.8; 4.56.11; 4.58.2; 5.1.3; 5.17.10. 20 22.41.5; 22.44.5; 23.35.7; 24.22.2; 26.41.20; 26.41.22; 28.20.10; 33.48.11; 34.49.10; 34.62.1;

40.7.7; 40.8.11, 16; 42.2.2; 42.4.5; 42.5.11. 21 See Sall. Cat. 10.1; Iug. 42.2-5; Hist. 1.11 Maur.

13

moments of political disharmony in order to preserve the overarching sense of

concordia that these books convey.22 Livy could well have turned the incident of Q.

Pleminius’ plot to set fire to the city and escape from his prison into something more

Sallustian, but instead he passes over it quickly (32.44.7-8).23 For it is obvious that

despite the lesson Machiavelli took from his work, Livy himself did not depict

discordia as something positive.24 It is concordia, not its antithesis, that is the basis of

good government in the AUC, and Books 21-45 appear to recount the time of greatest

concordia at Rome.25

And yet, as this thesis will demonstrate, although discordia is not as prominent

a feature of the res publica in the later of Livy’s extant books, it is not completely

absent. And small wonder, for the AUC, composed in an age of discordia, was directed

at an audience that would have been all too aware of where Livy’s narrative was

headed, even as he described the apogee of Rome’s fortunes at the end of the

Hannibalic War. This thesis explores Livy’s depiction of politics in Books 21-45, with

a particular focus on political strife, its sources, and the ways in which it was mitigated

at this point of concordia maxuma in his narrative.

The first chapter reconsiders the character of the AUC by re-evaluating the

context in which it was composed. It addresses the old fallacy that Livy was apolitical,

and also discusses whether, as many scholars have imagined, Livy was enamoured of

Caesar Augustus’ new political order, and to what extent the AUC is ‘Augustan’ or

‘Republican’ in outlook.

The second, third, and fourth chapters investigate three key aspects of politics

in Livy: the magistrates and other principes, the tribunes of the plebs, and the part

played by oratory in conducting politics and negotiating conflict. Chapter 2 considers

what the basis of concordia is in Books 21-45. Chapter 3 examines the causes of

discordia and discusses how it was confronted, and how successfully, by the political

leaders of the state. Together these chapters show that, although there is no shortage

of political conflict in the third to fifth decades, collectively the pillars of the Roman

22 Mouritsen 2017: 109-11. 23 Mouritsen 2017: 109. 24 Kapust 2011: 82-3. On the ‘felt meanings’ Machiavelli recovered by reading Livy, see Hammer

2008: 78-131. Vasaly, however, argues that Machiavelli is correct that (some of) the discordia in

Livy’s early books is constructive, insofar as it leads to the redress of the plebeians’ legitimate

grievances, which in turn promotes the concordia of the state in the long term. 25 On concordia in Livy’s political thought, see Kapust 2011: 81-110.

14

state are generally able to supress the forces of discord before they disturb the polity

too much.

The final chapter, however, shows that there are hints that more severe political

discord lies ahead in the AUC, by considering first the changing nature of leadership

and the dangers associated with it, and secondly the capacity of unrestrained oratory

to disrupt public harmony and endanger the state. This thesis therefore demonstrates

that although Books 21-45 probably represent the most settled period in Livy’s history,

there is no absence of politics and political conflict in them; concordia had eclipsed

discordia, but had not erased it altogether.

15

Chapter 1

Ab urbe condita: Context and Conception

Introduction

Livy’s supposed lack of either interest in or insight into political history is typically

attributed to the author’s personal background: to his origins, to his lack of

involvement in contemporary politics, and to the political climate in which he wrote.

The first part of this chapter (1.1 and 1.2) reviews the arguments that have been put

forward based on these premises. It shows that on closer examination the evidence

does not preclude the possibility that Livy was politically engaged, contrary to what

is usually argued. The second part of the chapter (1.3 and 1.4) adopts a more

expansive approach to understanding the background of the Ab urbe condita,

encompassing the historical and literary milieu in which it was conceived and begun.

In section 1.4, the aims of the AUC, especially as revealed by its praefatio, are

considered, and it is argued that Livy’s great project was a response to the political

upheaval of the late Republic, intended to address the problem of discordia.

1.1 An apolitical historian?

Titus Livius, whose life is traditionally dated 59 B.C.-A.D. 17, was a native of

Patavium in the Transpadane region of what was still at the time of his birth the

province of Gallia Cisalpina. 26 Culturally this region seems to have been largely

‘Romanised’ by the mid-first century, so it is safe to assume that despite being a

provincial Livy grew up in a Roman milieu. 27 Modern scholars, however, have

followed ancient authors in regarding the mores of the region as strict and old-

fashioned, as yet uncorrupted by the decadence that afflicted the metropolis. 28

26 Henceforth all dates are B.C. unless otherwise noted. Livy’s dates: Badian 1993: 10-11 accepts the

re-dating of M. Valerius Messalla’s birth to 64 but rejects Syme’s argument that Livy’s life should be

synchronised with Messalla’s as baseless. Livy a native of Patavium: Asc. Corn. 68 Cl.; Mart. 1.61.3;

Quint. Inst. 1.5.56. The province of Gallia Cisalpina was dissolved and incorporated into Italia in 42:

App. B Civ. 5.3; cf. 3.30; 5.22; Cass. Dio 48.12.5; see Reid 1913: 125-126; Chilver 1941: 9-14; Brunt

1971: 166-67; Salmon 1982: 139. 27 Mellor 1999: 48. On the ‘Romanisation’ of Gallia Transpadana, see Reid 1913: 115-16, 125-6, 146; Salmon 1982: 134, 202 n. 391. 28 E.g. Chilver 1941: 216-18; Syme 1939: 465; 1959: 53; Walsh 1961: 1-2; Ogilvie 1965: 2; Galinsky

1996: 280; Mellor 1999: 48; Levick 2015: 25; Mineo 2015: xxxiii. Martial 11.16 implicitly associates

16

Politically, Patavium’s reputed conservatism is widely believed to have translated into

a stalwart ‘republicanism’, evidence of which has been found in that city’s support

for the ‘republican’ or ‘senatorial’ side in the War of Mutina in 43.29 As a result Livy

has been viewed as a provincial not only in origin but in outlook, the implication being

that his perspective is not simply conservative but out-dated, naïve to the crude

realities of contemporary Rome.30 C. Asinius Pollio’s reference to Livy’s Patauinitas

has been adduced to support this interpretation: although Quintilian understands

Pollio’s criticism as being directed at Livy’s prose, various scholars consider it a

comment on the Patavine’s provincial perspective on life and politics.31 Syme goes

further, interpreting Pollio’s remark as an attack on ‘the whole moral and romantic

view of history’ that Livy represents.32 Furthermore, Livy is generally believed not to

have been a member the senatorial order, the political élite of the Republic, but rather

is assumed to have belonged to the equester ordo.33

There is no direct evidence to support this assumption, but it is not an

unreasonable one. Livy’s contemporary Strabo had the impression that the historian’s

native city was home to more equites Romani than any other in Italy except Rome.34

Livy’s education, and his ability to pursue a career as an historian apparently without

any other source of income or the financial help of a prominent literary patron,

strongly suggests that he belonged to one of Patavium’s many equestrian families.

For scholars who regard politics as the exclusive pursuit of the senatorial order, Livy’s

provincial equestrian background explains his lack of interest in politics. Syme

considers Livy a member of ‘the pacific and non-political order in society’, while in

Oglivie’s assessment ‘by nationality and upbringing Livy was predisposed to a

narrow-minded and somewhat bourgeois detachment from the political struggles of

Patavium with grauitas and rustic values; Plin. Ep. 1.14.3-4 calls the region that included Patavium

the part of Italy that still retains its antiqua uerecundia, frugalitas, and rusticitas. 29 Syme 1959: 53; Chilver 1941: 9, 217; Laistner 1947: 67; cf. Walsh 1961: 1-2; Usher 1985: 165. For

Patavium’s contribution to the war against M. Antonius in 43, see Cic. Phil. 12.10. 30 E.g. Syme 1959: 51; cf. 37; Chilver 1941: 216-18; Carney 1959, 4; Ogilvie 1965: 5, followed by

Ridley 1990: 133; Fantham 2013: 115; cf. Walsh 1961: 271-2; Mellor 1999: 48. 31 Quint. Inst. 1.5.56; 8.1.3; Chilver 1941: 216-18; Carney 1959: 8-9 n. 41; Ogilvie 1965: 5; cf. the

more cautious assessments of Fantham 2013: 114-15; Mineo 2015: xxxiii; and Mellor 1999: 62, who

accepts that Patauinitas could refer to both Livy’s literary style or to‘his provincial moral rectitude’,

since ‘For Pollio, both would go together.’ 32 Syme 1939: 485-6; followed by Scullard 1959: 248. 33 This assumption is almost universal; cf. Syme 1959: 51: ‘Livy belonged (it is tempting to assume)

to the “better sort” at Patavium.’ 34 Strabo 5.1.7.

17

his time’; the historian’s outlook is both ‘provincial’ and ‘middle-class’.35 Writing in

the same vein, Mellor has recently suggested that the AUC, in view of Livy’s

background, reflects the ‘moderately conservative political views and moral standards

of the non-political classes of Italy’ which ‘preferred the political order, moral

rectitude, and piety of the past to the corruption, demagoguery, rapid change, and civil

war of the first century’.36

More significantly for many of his critics, Livy is not known to have held

public office.37 Traditionally, Roman historiography, both Republican and Imperial,

is held to have been monopolised by writers with personal experience of politics.38

Unlike many of his predecessors, from early historians such as Fabius Pictor and Cato

the Elder to his contemporaries Sallust and Asinius Pollio, Livy appears never to have

held a magistracy at Rome or sat in the Roman senate. As such, he is treated as

something of an aberration among Roman historians; some commentators have even

expressed surprise that Livy ‘fail[ed] to enter politics’.39 It is generally assumed that

never having been a politician left Livy incapable of exploring the mechanics of

Republican politics, even if he had been inclined to do so. Syme implies as much in

The Roman Revolution by stressing the ‘practical experience of affairs’ that informed

the work of Pollio, Sallust, and Tacitus, whose scorn for ‘the academic historian’ he

highlights.40 He is more directly critical of Livy’s historical acumen in his subsequent

article, asserting that without the benefit of a political career behind him the young

Patavine ‘began to write history without having learned how history is made’. 41

Walsh, too, takes it for granted that Livy’s lack of ‘personal experience’ in Roman

politics will have ‘impaired his insight into the manipulation of political power’; he

allows only that it is impossible to judge on the basis of the surviving books exactly

how badly impaired the historian’s perspective was.42 And so too Ogilvie, for whom

35 Syme 1939: 465; cf. 1959: 74; Ogilvie 1965: 2, 5. Ogilvie’s assessment of Livy as a representative

of the apolitical Italian bourgeoisie is followed by Ridley 1990: 133 and echoed by Carney 1959: 8-9

n. 41, Galinsky 1996: 280, and Mellor 1999: 72. 36 Mellor 1999: 48. 37 This point is frequently emphasised: e.g. Syme 1959: 50, 75-6; Walsh 1961: ix, 163, 273; Ogilvie

1965: 24-5; Galinsky 1996: 280; Mellor 1999: 48-49; Mehl 2011: 100. 38 E.g. Walsh 1961: ix; Syme 1959: 50, 75-6; Miles 1995: 48-9; Mehl 2001: 100. 39 Mehl 2011: 100: cf. Ogilvie 1965: 24-5: ‘The political ambition of the normal Roman appear never

to have attracted him.’ 40 Tac. Hist. 1.1; Syme 1939: 485; cf. 4. Syme’s preference for these three historians, and Pollio in particular, is obvious, e.g. vii, 4-5, 482-6. 41 Syme 1959: 75-6. 42 Walsh 1961: 163; cf. 167, 168.

18

Livy’s ‘ignorance of public business’, the result of his political inexperience, ‘is

disclosed by almost every page of the history.’43 It has become almost axiomatic that

Livy’s political inexperience limited his ability to penetrate Roman high politics; two

recent surveys differ only in the degree to which they assume the historian’s judgment

to have been limited by his non-political career.44

In addition to Livy’s background, the broader context in which he wrote, at

the beginning of what would become the principate of Caesar Augustus, is held to

have restricted the historian’s engagement with Republican politics in a number of

different ways. Chief among these is Livy’s relationship with the new regime and

with the princeps himself. The historian is widely regarded as a friend of Augustus.45

A personal relationship between the two is inferred from Tacitus’ version of a speech

delivered by the historian A. Cremutius Cordus at his trial in A.D. 25:

‘Titus Liuius, eloquentiae ac fidei praeclarus in primis, Cn. Pompeium

tantis laudibus tulit, ut Pompeianum eum Augustus appellaret, neque

id amicitiae eorum offecit (Ann. 4.34.3).’

‘Titus Livius, distinguished among those foremost in eloquence and

credibility, held Cn. Pompeius in such high esteem that Augustus called

him a Pompeian; and this did not impede their friendship.’

Two further pieces of information are typically adduced to support the idea of a close

connection between the Patavine and the princeps. The first is the author’s digression

on the status of A. Cornelius Cossus when he defeated an enemy in single combat and

dedicated the spolia opima at the Temple of Jupiter Feretrius. Livy (4.20.5-11) writes

that he had ‘heard’ (audissem) Augustus’ report that during the latter’s renovation of

the temple he had discovered an inscription on Cossus’ linen corslet, which indicated

that Cossus had been consul when he dedicated the spolia, contrary to the literary

tradition which made him a military tribune. The second is Suetonius’ report (Claud.

41.1) that Claudius, in his youth, tried his hand at history ‘with the encouragement of

T. Livius’ (hortante T. Liuio). The latter passage is taken to reflect the historian’s

involvement with the imperial household, the former, more significantly, his direct

43 Ogilvie 1965: 24. 44 Mellor 1999: 50: ‘[Livy’s] work lacks some of the political acumen of a senator’; Mehl 2011: 104:

‘One should never lose sight in all this that Livy’s ability to assess military or political affairs neither

derived from personal experience nor was acquired growing up as a member of Republican Rome’s ruling class. Livy barely understood this intricacies of senatorial rule.’ 45 E.g. Syme 1939: 464; Scullard 1959: 247; Walsh 1961: 12, 18, 272; 1961a: 28; Ogilvie 1965: 2;

Galinsky 1996: 286; Mellor 1999: 71; cf. Fantham 2013: 115.

19

contact with Augustus himself, since its phrasing (4.20.7: hoc ego cum Augustum

Caesarem…ingressum aedem Feretri Iouis…se ipsum in thorace linteo scriptum

legisse audissem) is assumed to mean that Livy was told about the testimony of the

linen corslet by the emperor in person.46

The nature and significance of this alleged friendship between princeps and

historian has been variously interpreted. Some commentators regard Livy as a member

of the literary circle gathered around Augustus and his associates, employed by the

imperial household in much the same way as Vergil and Horace. 47 The Roman

Revolution treats Livy as ‘Augustus’ historian’, placing him alongside the

aforementioned poets whose attachment to the regime is firmly attested. 48 This

interpretation allows Syme to interpret Livy’s admiration for Cn. Pompeius Magnus

not as evidence of Livy’s political independence and the first emperor’s forbearance,

as Tacitus intends it, but as the historian reflecting the stance of the Augustan

establishment. Syme argues that the positive depiction of Pompeius (and the

corresponding criticism of C. Julius Caesar) reflects a general rehabilitation of the

great commander’s reputation under the new regime, which sought to align itself with

the ‘republican’ values of the losing side in the civil war of 49-45.49 This view of

Livy’s relationship with the principate obviously makes genuine, independent political

insight on his part unlikely, and it has had some influence on modern scholarship.

Howard H. Scullard follows Syme, locating Livy with Horace and Vergil in a literary

circle devoted to extolling the virtues of the Augustan res publica.50 Charles Norris

Cochrane is perhaps also influenced by Syme, but takes the latter’s conclusions further

by characterising the AUC as no less than ‘an effort to ‘sell’ the Augustan system’.51

46 For Suetonius’ note as evidence of Livy’s connections with the imperial household, see e.g. Scullard

1959: 247; Syme 1959: 66; Walsh 1961a: 28; Ogilvie 1965: 2; Woodman 1988: 138; Mellor 1999: 70;

Mehl 2011: 100, cf. 103. For the Cossus passage as evidence of personal relations between Livy and

Augustus, see e.g. Cichorius 1922: 261-3; Syme 1959: 43-4, 66; Ogilvie 1965: 3, 563-4; Galinsky

1996: 286; Fantham 2013: 115; cf. Foster’s translation of 4.20.7 for the Loeb edition (1922), which

assumes direct contact between the two: ‘Having heard from the lips of Augustus Caesar…’. 47 E.g. Scullard 1959: 244-8; Shotter 2005: 48-9; Mehl 2011: 100; Fantham 2013: 115. 48 Livy as Augustus’ historian: Syme 1939: 464; cf. 317. The proximity of Livy and the poets to the

Augustan regime: Syme 1939: 318, 464-5. 49 Syme 1939: 317: ‘The Emperor and his historian understood each other’; cf. 464; 1959, 58. This

interpretation is followed by Mehl 2011: 103. 50 Scullard 1959: 247-8; Scullard 1959: 417 n. 1 cites Syme 1939 as a general reference for his chapter

on Augustan culture. 51 Cochrane 1940: 98-99; Cochrane 1940: vii expresses particular gratitude in his preface to Syme for

his help, so it may reasonably be inferred that Syme’s own views on Livy, presented in The Roman

Revolution, have influenced Cochrane’s.

20

Closer to the present, Elaine Fantham has described Livy’s history as ‘an authorized

work’ promoted by the regime, which in turn aimed at promoting ‘the ideals that

Augustus wanted to set before his people’.52 By representing Livy as in effect an

official spokesman for the new order, these authors follow Syme in stripping him of

independent political attitudes.

Other commentators, however, have been more cautious about interpreting

Livy as a court historian. There is no direct evidence that Livy enjoyed the patronage

of the Augustan circle, as there is for Vergil, Horace and Propertius.53 And more

scholars have taken Tacitus’ passage as it was intended, as simple proof of Livy’s

freedom of speech under Augustus, than have followed Syme’s ingenious

interpretation.54 Livy’s apologists argue that his amicitia with the emperor need not

have curtailed his independence. Indeed, it has been argued that Livy, far from

composing his history with the aim of pleasing his imperial amicus, only earned

Augustus’ amicitia after the publication of his early books. In this scenario, it was the

writer who was courted by the emperor, rather than the writer who courted the

emperor’s favour; this interpretation permits Livy his authorial integrity in spite of his

association with the princeps.55 Evidence of the historian’s independence has been

found in his treatment of Augustus’ claims about Cossus’ consulate. Although Livy

took the trouble to report the princeps’ testimony in detail, he evidently did not think

it outweighed his literary evidence because he did not rewrite his account to make

Cossus a consul. He accorded Augustus the respect the latter’s eminence merited

without allowing that eminence to sway his historical judgement.56 This suggests that

echoes of Augustan ideology in the AUC do not necessarily indicate that its author

52 Fantham 2013: 115. 53 Galinsky 1996: 286; cf. Syme 1959: 52; Mellor 1999: 70-71. 54 E.g. Walsh 1961: 11-12; Ogilvie 1965: 2; Usher 1985: 166-7; Badian 1993: 25-6; Galinsky 1996:

286; Marincola 1997: 171-2. This is not to say that Syme’s assessment of the mature Augustan

establishment’s attitudes towards Pompeius and Caesar is inaccurate. Galinsky 1996: 286 argues,

however, that while it was safe to extol the former and to be somewhat critical of the latter, Livy may

have earned his Pompeianus epithet by going beyond what was generally acceptable, particularly in

his ambivalent treatment of Caesar (Sen. QNat. 5.18.4). 55 See Carney 1959: 5; Walsh 1961: 12, cf. 18, 272; 1961a: 28; Ogilvie 1965: 3. 56 Walsh 1961: 14-15; 1961a: 30; Ogilvie 1965: 3, cf. 564; Galinsky 1996: 286; Kraus 1997: 72;

Forsythe 1999: 63-4; Mineo 2015: xxxv-xxxvii. Cf. Fantham 2013: 115, who uses the same material

to support the opposite conclusion, offering it as evidence of Livy’s dependence on Augustus’ approval and support. Another example given as evidence of Livy’s independence is the doubt he expresses over

the conflicting traditions about the parentage of Ascanius/Iulus (1.3.1-3), which shows that he chose

not to accept the claims of the gens Iulia without question: see Miles 1995: 38-40; Galinsky 1996: 286.

21

was intentionally promoting the new dispensation.57 Few commentators have accepted

Walsh’s unconvincing proposal that these ideological parallels are the result of Livy’s

influence on the princeps, rather than the reverse.58 Instead, rather than interpreting

these parallels as the result of Livy’s contact with Augustus, many scholars regard

them as the product of a shared cultural and intellectual milieu that, in the wake of the

ruinous internal conflicts of the late Republic, stressed the need for the revival of

patriotism and a reversion to traditional morality.59 Syme himself approached this

position in his later work on Livy by recognising that the AUC’s attitudes towards

‘religion, patriotism, and morality’ might pre-date the Augustan settlement.60 Because

the regime assumed a patriotic, moral, and religious stance similar to his own, Livy

can been presumed to have embraced the Augustan dispensation of his own accord,

rather than in service to the princeps.61

Those who defend Livy’s intellectual autonomy, however, generally have not

associated this autonomy with an independent political outlook. On the contrary, the

historian is depicted in some modern interpretations as acquiescing in the reconstituted

res publica precisely because he lacked any political inclinations of his own. Once

again, Livy’s background is cited to justify this position. Syme describes the Augustan

settlement as ‘the victory of the non-political classes’, which in his view included the

equestrian order and Italian gentry to which Livy belonged.62 With his ‘bourgeois’,

municipal predilection for peace and the status quo, the historian is held to have

welcomed the younger Caesar’s rule because it suppressed the disruptive political

contests that characterised the last decades of the Republic.63 The principate created

an environment in which Livy and the rest of his class could safely ignore high

57 Cf. Laistner 1947: 97; Kraus 1997: 72. 58 Walsh 1961: 12-14, 18. Mellor 1999: 71 cautiously proposes that Livy’s early books may have

influenced Augustan policy, particularly the restoration of the temples and the revival of ancient

religious rituals. 59 E.g. Laistner 1947: 97-8; Walsh 1961: 10-11, 271-2; Levene 1993: 248 (on ‘Augustan’ religious

themes in Livy specifically); Miles 1995: 109; Galinsky 1996: 280-2; Mellor 1999: 70-1; cf. Woodman

1988: 137. 60 Syme 1959: 28. 61 Carney 1959: 4; Walsh 1961: 10-14; 1961a: 31; Woodman 1988: 137-8; Mellor 1999: 71; cf. Syme

1959: 74, 75. 62 Syme 1939: 513; followed by Carney 1959: 4; Galinsky 1996: 280. 63 Syme 1939: 464-5; 1959: 74; Carney 1959: 4, 8 n. 41; Galinsky 1996: 280-1; Mellor 1999: 72. Walsh 1961a: 29 qualifies this position, arguing that Livy (‘a true son of Patavium’) supported the Augustan

settlement only ‘for so long as he believed that Augustus was striving to reinstate Senatorial

government’.

22

politics.64 Marincola stresses that as a product of this environment the AUC downplays

the political significance of Roman history because neither its author nor its audience

were politically active. 65 Other commentators have even detected evidence in his

praefatio that Livy went beyond simply accepting Augustus’ new dispensation. The

historian’s comment about the remedia to Rome’s current troubles has been

interpreted as a cryptic reference to Augustus’ autocracy, or at least to the Augustan

programme of moral revival, as the solution to the perennial strife of recent years.66

An advocate of monarchy, however nuanced, is unlikely to have shown much interest

in the Republican political system per se, except perhaps to illustrate how the chaos it

had recently engendered made that monarchy necessary.67

Finally, it has occasionally been suggested the political climate under

Augutus’ principate discouraged Livy from expressing himself freely. As the historian

is usually considered apolitical, this suggestion is not often given in explanation of the

supposed absence of politics in his extant work, although it is sometimes presumed to

have had an impact on his depiction of more recent and contemporary history in his

lost books. Nevertheless, the evidence for restrictions on free speech during the time

of the AUC’s composition is worth reviewing since it could be imagined to have

influenced Livy’s his earlier work, too. The clearest evidence of censorship under

Augustus dates to the last decade of his reign. The books of T. Labienus were

condemned and burnt by senatorial decree, as were those of Cassius Severus; the

former committed suicide while the latter, because of the enmity he had incurred by

his invectives, was exiled by the senate.68 Of Labienus the elder Seneca writes that

even under the pax Augusta he had not yet relinquished his ‘Pompeian passions’.69

Livy’s Pompeian tendencies may not have alienated him from the princeps, but it

would appear from Seneca’s observation that there were limits to the regime’s

64 Marincola 1997: 29. 65 Marincola 1997: 29; cf. Mellor 1999: 48. 66 praef. 9; Syme 1959: 42-3, cf. 74; Galinsky 1996: 281-2; Duff 2003: 85; Moles 2009: 69-75, 81-2;

Fantham 2013: 115. Mellor 1999: 71-2 admits the possibility that remedia refers to the rule of

Augustus, but also expresses scepticism about this interpretation. Woodman 1988: 134-5 accepts that

praef. 9 pertains to ‘the prospect of dictatorship which alone would end the war’ but, dating it to before

the Battle of Actium in 31, implies that it does not necessarily pertain to the future princeps. 67 Cf. Moles 2009: 82. 68 T. Labienus: Sen. Controv. 10 praef. 5, 7-8; Suet. Calig. 16.1; Cassius Severus: Suet. Calig. 16.1; Tac. Ann. 1.72; 4.21. Cassius Dio 56.27.1 places the book-burnings in A.D. 12 69 Sen. Controv. 10 praef. 5: animus…qui Pompeianos spiritus nondum in tanta pace posuisset (‘his

spirit…had not yet laid to rest its Pompeian passions, even under so firm a peace’).

23

tolerance of contrary positions.70 Livy’s project must have been largely complete by

the time of these persecutions, but it is precisely the later sections of his history,

recounting the rise to power of Caesar Augustus, that were the most politically

sensitive. The superscription to the Periocha of Book 121, qui editus post excessum

Augusti dicitur, has been considered significant in this regard. Since Livy cannot

possibly have written twenty-one books in the three years between the first emperor’s

death and his own, the superscription must mean that these books were only published

after A.D. 14, with most being composed before that.71 The delay in the publication of

Books 121-142, which chronicle the years from the Triumvirate to the death of Drusus,

has been interpreted as Livy’s cautious response to the dangers of writing too freely

about Augustus’ early career.72 Syme and Mellor, however, doubt that Livy was in

any danger, attributing Livy’s decision to withhold his last books to tact rather than

fear.73 Syme also interprets the focus on foreign campaigns at the expense of domestic

affairs in Periochae 134-142, which cover the years 29-9, as at least partially

motivated by Livy’s desire to ‘avoid awkward topics’ such as the conspiracy of Varro

Murena in 23, and the struggles over succession.74

The composition of these last books and the attacks on outspoken figures

occurred towards the end of Augustus’ life, but some authors have postulated that Livy

would not have felt free to express potentially controversial views even at the

beginning of the emperor’s reign. Mehl, for example, points to Horace’s description

of Pollio’s history as periculosae plenum opus aleae (‘a labour full of dangerous risk’)

as evidence of the dangers attendant on writing about the civil wars even during the

20s.75 Similarly, Miles argues that ‘though Labienus and Cassius had not suffered their

unprecedented fates, that did not mean those fates would have been unimaginable

when Livy began the composition of his own history some forty years earlier.’76 He

70 Cf. Badian 1993: 27, 37 n. 57. 71 Syme 1959: 38-40; followed by Badian 1993: 23-5; Mehl 2011: 102-3. 72 Mehl 2011: 103; Badian 1993: 27-8. 73 Syme 1959: 72 suggests that Livy may have withheld these books out of consideration for those who

had been subject to censorship, and perhaps also to avoid embellishing Augustus’ speeches while the

princeps still lived. Mellor 1999: 72 thinks that Livy was motivated more by a general sense of pietas

towards the emperor. 74 Laistner 1947: 79; Syme 1959: 67, 68-9, 69-71, also arguing that Livy chose to end his history in 9

to avoid recounting politically sensitive matters in the years that followed, such as the difficulties of securing the succession and the defeat in the Teutoburg Forest. 75 Hor. Carm. 2.1.6-8; Mehl 2011: 103. 76 Miles 1995: 49-51.

24

stresses that when Livy started writing he could not know how the fledgling principate

would treat dissenting or contrary views.77 Livy’s awareness of the potential dangers

of engaging too directly in politically sensitive matters explains, in Miles’ view, his

tentative and often ambiguous treatment of conflicting historical traditions. This is

interpreted as a response to Augustus’ efforts to monopolise Roman history to serve

his own political agenda, a way of confronting and challenging the regime’s attempt

to control Rome’s historical narrative without doing so too explicitly.78 Thus, Livy’s

treatment of Roman history was constrained by ‘the necessity of political tact’.79

This is not a widely-held view, since for the reasons outlined above Livy is

usually assumed not to have had much to say about politics anyway. Other historians

had written in part to convey practical lessons based on (or at least justified by) their

own political experience to other members of the governing élite. In contrast, as a

provincial with little interest in or experience of politics Livy is not imagined to have

intended his work to be politically instructive. Instead, he used history to extol the

virtues and the resulting accomplishments of the maiores, in an effort to counteract

the moral decay about which he and his contemporaries were so concerned.80 This

moral instruction was directed not primarily to the political class but to a broader

audience, for many members of which politics would have mattered little, especially

as the supremacy of Augustus had now rendered traditional politics obsolete.81 Of

course, the nature of his subject meant that Livy could not ignore politics altogether,

but his depiction of political matters is typically characterised as naïve or simplistic,

as befits its author. Livy is blind to the corruption of the Republican political system,

and so he idealises the ancient Roman state.82 His native conservatism results in a

laudatory and uncritical portrait of the senate and its leadership, which is matched by

a generally negative presentation of the populus and populist politicians.83 Livy’s

understanding of senatorial politics, too, is overly simplistic and idealised because,

not being a senator, he is considered ignorant of the complex internal dynamics of the

77 Miles 1995: 49-51, 223-4; cf. 51 n. 58: ‘Clearly, the new political order had created a new

environment in which historians…could no longer be certain that the liberality accorded freedom of

speech in the late Republic continued to apply.’ 78 Miles 1995: 38-54. 79 Miles 1995: 224. 80 Syme 1959: 56; Walsh 1961: 66, 93; 1961a: 29; 1982: 1065-6, 1069; Marincola 1997: 29. 81 Syme 1959: 75; Marincola 1997: 29; cf. Mellor 1999: 48. 82 Carney 1959, 8 n. 41; Walsh 1961a: 29; 1982: 1064. 83 Walsh 1961: 166-7; 1961a: 29; Mehl 2011: 104; cf. Mellor 1999: 48.

25

Roman senate and its dealings with other powerful groups.84 While it is admitted that

the historian does occasionally show an awareness of the complexities at the heart of

politics (such as the rôle of social and economic factors in the ‘Struggles of the

Orders’), his interest in these matters is attributed to his interest in character and its

moral significance: in Walsh’s words, Livy’s ‘interest is primarily in personalities, not

in policies’. 85 The man from Patavium, disconnected from the hard realities of

political life at Rome, a member of the ‘bourgeoisie’ who like the rest of his class

wanted nothing more than to enjoy the peace that the rule of Caesar Augustus offered,

is simply not expected to have devoted his energies to explicating politics.

1.2 An apolitical historian: the evidence reconsidered

This interpretation of the influence of Livy’s origins and historical context on his

attitude to politics is not as sound as it might appear. Under closer scrutiny many of

the premises on which it is based prove either incorrect or overly reliant on

questionable assumptions. Furthermore, some of the key arguments that Livy was

apolitical take for granted a view of Roman politics that is too limited in its conception,

and hence does not reflect the range or nature of what the historian and his

contemporaries are likely to have considered political matters. By critically examining

the arguments outlined above, this section will demonstrate that nothing in Livy’s

background precludes him from having been conscious of politics.

The idea that Livy’s origins and social position left him uninformed about and

disinterested in politics is problematic in a number of ways. The common argument

that the historian’s alleged innocence of Roman politics stemmed from his Patavine

roots is especially dubious. By the late first century A.D. the region that included

Patavium may well have been associated with grauitas and rusticitas, if the comments

of Martial and Pliny the Younger are accepted as representative. 86 There is little

reason, however, to assume that this association dates back to Livy’s time, and still

less to credit it with any accuracy. Metropolitan Romans displayed a tendency to

stereotype people from the more remote and rural regions of Italy as moral, old-

fashioned, and untainted by the decadence of urban life, but as with any social and

84 Mehl 2011: 104; Walsh 1961: 165-8. 85 Walsh 1961: 69-70; cf. 163-4; 1961a: 32; 1982: 1065-6. 86 Mart. 11.16; Plin. Ep. 1.14.6.

26

ethnic stereotype this ought to be treated with utmost suspicion in the absence of

corroborating evidence.87 Patavium’s opposition to M. Antonius in the War of Mutina

has been presented by modern commentators as a reflection of the city’s

‘republicanism’, and Cicero certainly represents Patavine participation as an

exemplary display of loyalty to the senate.88 Cicero’s rhetoric, however, is hardly

unbiased; he may have presented the war as a straightforward conflict between the

forces of the res publica and tyranny, but this need not reflect the Patavines’ view or

their reasons for taking up arms against Antonius. Thus there is no hard contemporary

proof that Patavium was old-fashioned in its morals and tastes during Livy’s lifetime.

If the assumption that his community was a bastion of rustic conservatism is

abandoned, it makes no sense to interpret Asinius Pollio’s criticism of Livy’s

Patauinitas as a reference to provincial naïvety in the latter’s approach to history.89

Patauinitas is better understood as an example of Pollio’s famously pedantic attitude

to grammar, directed at certain regional idiosyncracies in Livy’s prose, though its

exact significance will probably remain as perplexing to modern readers as it was to

Quintillian.90 But it is unreasonable to imagine that Livy was unacquainted with the

realities of contemporary politics simply because he came from Patavium.

The same can be said of the idea that Livy would have been uninterested in

politics because of his social class. This argument is based on the misconception that

the equester ordo, and especially its municipal element to which Livy probably

belonged, was a non-political class. In discussions about the historian, scholars have

often treated this order as a kind of pre-modern middle class, preoccupied not with

politics per se but with the more ‘bourgeois’ concerns of material security and

87 Dench 1995: 67-8, 107-8. This stereotyping phenomenon and its impact on the depiction of the

Sabines is examined in detail by Dench 1995: 85-94, who notes that with the incorporation of the

Sabines into the Roman polity ‘Sabine distinctness comes to embody all the positive aspects of being

outside the corrupt city of Rome, seat of empire’. Cf. similar stereotyping of noui homines as old-

fashioned, moral and innocent of Roman corruption, e.g. Sall. Iug. 85 about Marius; Tac. Ann. 3.55

and 16.5 about municipal and provincial senators under Vespasian and Nero respectively; Wiseman

1971: 113; Dench 1995: 107-8. 88 Cic. Phil. 12.10. 89 It could be argued that Pollio’s criticism reflects the kind of stereotype discussed above, but, again,

there is no evidence that this stereotyping had yet been directed to the communities of Gallia

Transpadana, which had only recently been incorporated into the Roman polity as citizens.

Furthermore, as a product of a municipal community himself, Pollio is perhaps unlikely to have

embraced the prejudices of metropolitan Rome. 90 MacKay 1943: 44-5; Walsh 1961: 269-70; Bosworth 1972: 446; Mehl 2011: 95; Levick 2015: 34.

Cf. Pollio’s trivial criticism of Sallust’s prose: Gell. NA 10.26; Suet. Gram. et rhet. 10.1-4; Bosworth

1972: 446.

27

traditional morality. Livy, with his interest in morals and political harmony, has been

seen as the ‘consummate representative’ of this non-political class. 91 The

identification of the equestrian order as a commercial middle class, however, has long

been recognised as misleading.92 The equites of the first century are more correctly

understood as the upper class of Roman Italy, that is, the same social and economic

class as the senators.93 Although many equestrians engaged in commercial activity, as

state contractors (publicani) or as general businessmen (negotiatores), the equestrian

order was not primarily a commercial class. 94 The economy of Roman Italy was

overwhelmingly agricultural, and in such an economy most wealth necessarily derives

from ownership of land. In other words, the wealthy equestrian order, like the

senatorial order, was a predominantly land-owning class: the majority of equites

probably did not invest in commerce or public contracts, while most of those who did

so derived their capital from landed property.95 As its economic foundations were

identical to those of its senatorial counterpart, the ordo equester is unlikely to have

evolved a distinct ‘bourgeois’ ideology. The occasional clashes between the

commercially active publicani and the senate should not obscure the fact that the two

orders had broadly concurrent financial interests based on landed property.96 This is

evident in equestrian opposition to agrarian laws, which also illustrates one way in

which the equites could become actively involved in politics.97 So, while it is true that

when the equites did become involved in politics they were often motivated by their

own material interests, these interests were not always related to publican activity or

commerce, or necessarily discrepant from those of the senate (and the ordo equester

91 Galinsky 1996: 280; cf. Ogilvie 1965: 2; Mellor 1999: 72. 92 N.B. the objections to the use of the term ‘middle class’, with its modern socio-economic

connotations, raised in reviews of Hill’s The Roman Middle Class in the Republican Period (1952):

Balsdon 1954: 148-9; Scullard 1955: 181-2. Cf. Brunt 1988: 162. 93 See Brunt 1988, esp. 146-7, 193. Beyond the formal distinction conferred by a seat in the senate,

there does not seem to have been any formal distinction between the two orders until the introduction

of a separate senatorial census by Caesar Augustus: see Nicolet 1976: 20-30 and passim; Brunt 1988:

146. The division between the orders was blurred by the fact that a large proportion of senators must

have come from equestrian backgrounds rather than established senatorial families, especially after

Sulla increased the membership of the senate to six hundred; furthermore, the wealthiest and most

prestigious equestrian families shared the same ‘social milieu’ as their senatorial counterparts: see

Brunt 1988: 146-7. 94 For the identity and activities of the publicani and the negotiatores, see Brunt 1988: 162-73. 95 See Brunt 1971a: 70; 1988: 162-4; cf. Broughton 1955: 276. 96 Brunt 1971a: 73. For a critical analysis of the idea of a protracted conflict between the senate and

equites over the latter’s business activities, see Brunt 1988: 162-92. 97 Brunt 1988: 147-8.

28

hardly had a monopoly on material motives for engaging in politics, particularly when

property rights were involved).

The equites also had more in common ideologically with the senators than their

need to maintain security of tenure. It must also be borne in mind that the greater part

of the equestrian order, certainly after the enfranchisement of Italy after the Social

War, probably comprised the domi nobiles of the municipia.98 As their name suggests,

these municipal equites constituted local aristocracies; despite the limited rôle they

played in the affairs of the Roman state, as the governing élite of their own small

polities their attitude towards politics is likely to have been every bit as aristocratic as

that of the great nobiles of Rome.99 Any doubts about this are dispelled by a cursory

reflection on the attitudes and instincts of Cicero, which despite their municipal

equestrian origins can hardly be described as bourgeois. Unlike Cicero, most

municipal equites appear to have limited whatever political aspirations they had to

local government. Others will have had no ambitions beyond maintaining their estates,

satisfied with the wealth and status those farms conferred. Nevertheless, these equites’

aristocratic ethos was evidently as developed as that of those citizens with grander

ambitions, and their sense of dignitas drew them into political contests at Rome.100

The political significance of the equestrian order’s collective sense of pride during the

first century can been seen in such examples as the lex Roscia of 69 granting equites

designated seating at the circus, and, later, by Augustus’ grant of the right to adorn

their tunics with purple angusti claui. Both cases reflect the desire of the order for

recognition of its status, its splendor, and senatorial politicians’ recognition of the

value of equestrian support. The most notable example of the impact of the collective

pride of the equestrians is the protracted conflict over the composition of the juries for

the permanent quaestiones: P. A. Brunt’s analysis of this conflict indicates that it was

motivated by the equestrian sense of entitlement, rather than by publican desire to

control the courts as a weapon to use against hostile senators as has often been

imagined.101 The political involvement of the non-senatorial upper class was therefore

not restricted to the pursuit of their private material interests. Admittedly, the majority

98 Brunt 1988, 164. 99 Cf. Brunt 1988: 146-7 on the common ideology and pursuits of the domi nobiles and the senatorial

aristocracy. 100 Brunt 1988: 145: ‘Consideration of dignitas were doubtless no more alien to the mentality of the

[equites Romani] than of the [senators]’; cf. 192. 101 Brunt 1988: 144-5, 150-62, 192.

29

of equites, particularly those who, like Livy, lived many days’ journey from Rome,

probably played a very limited rôle in the affairs of the res publica.102 It is also likely

true, as Brunt suggests, that few equites would have been willing to risk civil war in

defence of the res publica against one or the other of the dynasts of the 40s or 30s.103

But in the case of the equestrian order limited political activity should not be equated

with political antipathy. As a member of a class with substantial material interests and

a strong sense of its standing in society, Livy should not be assumed to have been

apolitical because of his social background. Nor should it be imagined that the

economic and social circumstances of the senatorial élite were ‘Especially alien’ to

Livy, as Mehl claims, since his own equestrian circumstances were probably not

radically different.104

A related argument, that Livy could not have understood Roman politics

because he had no personal experience of politics as a senator, is even more

problematic. Modern exponents of this argument appear to have adopted Polybius’

view, that historians without any personal experience of politics are not qualified to

write political history.105 Roman historians who had pursued political careers may

well have agreed with the Megalopolitan in this matter, but his premise was not

universally accepted.106 Modern scholarship tends to exaggerate the extent to which

Roman historiography was monopolised by men with political experience, for several

of Livy’s more eminent predecessors, including L. Coelius Antipater, Q. Claudius

Quadrigarius, Valerius Antias, Aelius Tubero and Sempronius Asellio, do not appear

to have pursued political careers.107 Livy’s background was not as unusual for an

historian as it is often suggested. This is not to say that Livy would not have had less

insight into some of the practicalities of politics than an experienced and active

102 Brunt 1988: 164 suggests that the political rôle of the ‘municipal gentry’ was largely restricted to

voting in the comitia centuriata. 103 Brunt 1988: 161-2, 192. 104 Mehl 2011: 104. 105 Polyb. 12.25e-28a; Walsh 1961: 163, 168 explicitly follows Polybius’ criteria in his appraisal of

Livy as an historian. See Levene 2011: 278-80 for criticism of the tendency of modern writers to accept

this ancient prejudice. 106 Tacitus (Hist. 1.1.1) attributes the decline in the quality of historiography after the establishment of

the principate in part to writers’ inscitia rei publicae ut alienae (‘ignorance of public and foreign

affairs’); see Miles 1995: 49 n. 48. 107 Miles 1995: 48 n. 47 provides a useful, if ironic, illustration of this tendency, listing these non-

political historians only to stress that ‘The writing of history remained the particular domain of men

who held or had held political office at Rome.’

30

senator.108 But it should not be assumed that an historian who had not been a politician

would be wholly uninformed about politics nor incapable of acquainting himself with

it. 109 The evidence taken from Livy’s extant work to argue the opposite is not

convincing. For instance, some have argued that an innocence of political reality is

revealed by Livy’s failure to relate the private interactions and manoeuvring of the

senators.110 In Walsh’s judgement, the historian’s ‘ignorance of power politics makes

him unaware of, or at any rate reticent about, the family alliances which sought to

prolong their pre-dominance by control of elections.’111 This argument relies heavily

on an a priori conception of Roman politics, in which gens-based factions manipulated

public affairs behind the façade of a republican constitution.112 While widely accepted

at the time when Walsh was writing, this conception of politics has since been refuted.

There is no real evidence of the kind sustained alliances of nobiles that were

extrapolated by Friedrich Münzer and H. H. Scullard, so the AUC’s silence on the

matter is not a reflection of its author’s naïvety. Admittedly much public policy must

have been determined by the sort of personal negotiations reflected by Cicero’s

correspondence, but it is unfair to accuse Livy of ignorance for not relating this in his

extant books. The historian was ultimately dependent on his sources for his

information about political activity; if his sources did not provide accounts of this type

of activity it is hardly reasonable to expect Livy to have done so. There is thus no firm

basis for believing that simply because he had never been a politician Livy was

incapable of comprehending politics.

The idea that Livy cannot have understood politics because he was not a

senator is a reflection of the old tendency, discussed in the Introduction to this thesis,

to treat Roman politics narrowly in terms of the interrelations of the aristocracy. This

tendency has been superseded by a more expansive approach to politics in the

Republic, in which the personal relations of the élite are understood to be only one

108 However, the figure of T. Pomponius Atticus, as he emerges from the Ciceronian epistles and from

Cornelius Nepos’ biography, serves as an admonishment against assuming that men outside of the

senate were necessarily less familiar with the intricacies of senatorial politics. It is difficult to identify

a politically better connected or better informed figure in the late Republic than the Epicurean who

deliberately eschewed formal involvement in public affairs. 109 Levene 2011: 286. 110 Walsh 1961: 165-7; Mehl 2011: 104. 111 Walsh 1961, 166. 112 Walsh 1961: 165-7.

31

aspect of a broader, more open political culture.113 In place of Syme’s arcana imperii,

many activities of the political élite are understood to have been performed in full view

of the populus Romanus. Indeed, it was precisely this interactive relationship between

the leadership of the Roman state and its citizenry that gave the leadership its

legitimacy, regardless of whether the populus’ rôle in this relationship is considered

largely symbolic or whether it seen as genuine political participation. 114 On this

understanding of Roman politics, the likelihood that Livy did not belong to the

political élite need not be equated with his exclusion from political life.

This realisation has significant implications for understanding the influence of

the Augustan regime on his work. If Livy is not regarded as having belonged to a

naturally apolitical class, then it is unsafe to assume that he embraced the principate

because it brought an end to politics (according to the narrow definition discussed

above), or that because of this he composed an apolitical history for a similarly-

minded audience. The historical context and its impact on Livy’s historiography will

be discussed in greater detail below, but for now it will suffice to point out that

Augustus’ settlement did not actually render politics irrelevant, certainly not during

the years in which the existing sections of the AUC were written. As Syme points out,

the rule of Augustus was not as secure in the decade after Actium as it is usually

imagined. In these precarious years, when the memory of the civil wars was still fresh,

neither Livy nor his audience are likely to have felt that they could safely ignore

politics. The question of how free Livy was to express political views must therefore

be addressed.

It has been shown that the most commonly cited obstacles to Livy’s freedom

of speech are censorship by the Augustan regime, and what Walsh described as ‘a

subtler form of censorship’, the pressures of the emperor’s friendship with and

patronage of the historian.115 The argument that from the beginning of his project

Livy would have had to avoid expressing views at variance with the regime’s official

stance is easily dealt with. There is no reason to retroject the censorious atmosphere

113 For bibliography, see the footnotes under the relevant discussion in the Introduction. 114 The classic case for genuine, effectively democratic participation by the populus is Millar 1998. Mouritsen 2017 presents arguments for viewing the participation of the populus as largely symbolic, a

legitimising pretence employed by the ruling élite. 115 Walsh 1961a: 28.

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of Augustus’ final decade to his first.116 There are no recorded instances of censorship

from the regime’s early years, and Seneca explicitly states that the burning of T.

Labienus’ books was unprecedented, suggesting that he, at least, was unaware of any

earlier cases.117 Furthermore, it is not certain that the destruction of Labienus’ writings

represents an effort to stifle political dissent. Walsh points out that Seneca’s account

depicts Labienus as the victim of the private enmity he incurred by his indiscriminate

verbal assaults, which had earned him the nickname Rabienus.118 Labienus’ personal

inimici, not the Augustan state, are blamed for the suppression of his written works.119

On the other hand, Cassius Dio and Tacitus attribute the suppression of certain works

of literature, including those of Cassius Severus, to the princeps himself. 120 Both,

however, indicate that this initiative was directed against defamation in written form,

nowhere implying that there was any ulterior motive behind this.121 It appears that

Labienus, like Cassius Severus, was punished for his libellous invectives, not for his

political opinions. Seneca’s reference to Labienus’ Pompeiani spiritus it therefore

better understood as a reference to the libertas that characterised his oratory, which

recalled an earlier, more liberal age, rather than to any anti-Augustan political

tendencies.122 The case for censorship under Augustus is unproven. The example of

Cremutius Cordus provides a counter to any assumption that the first emperor would

have been intolerant of contrary political positions. Cordus evidently felt secure

116 Cf. Badian 1993: 27-8, arguing that the change from a liberal to a censorious atmosphere at Rome

was a sudden occurrence in Augustus’ final years. 117 Sen. Controv. 10 praef. 5: in hoc primum excogitata est noua poena…res noua et inusitata

supplicium de studiis sumi (‘In this case a new penalty was first devised…a new and unheard-of business, to exact punishment from literature’); see Walsh 1961a: 28; cf. Badian 1993: 27. Cf. Tac.

Ann. 1.72 on the condemnation of Cassius Severus, which claims that Augustus was the first person to

apply the lex maiestatis to written libels. 118 Sen. Controv. 10 praef. 5: libertas tanta, ut libertatis nomen excederet, et, quia passim ordines

hominesque laniabat Rabie<nu>s uocaretur (‘His freedom of speech was such that it surpassed the

very name of freedom, and because he savaged all orders and men he was called “Rabienus” ’); Walsh

1961a: 27-8. 119 Sen. Controv. 10 praef. 5: effectum est per inimicos ut omnes eius libri comburerentur (‘it happened

though the efforts of his enemies that all his books were burnt’); Walsh 1961a: 27-8. 120 Cass. Dio 56.27.1; Tac. Ann. 1.72.3. Naturally an initiative of Augustus would have been enacted

through the senate: Suetonius (Calig. 16.1) refers to senatus consulta condemning the works of T.

Labienus and Cassius Severus. 121 Cass. Dio 56.27.1: (‘learning that some books were being written attacking certain people, he conducted a search

for them’); Tac. Ann. 1.72.3: primus Augustus cognitionem de famosis libellis specie legis [maiestatis]

eius tractauit, commotus Cassii Seueri libidine, qua uiros feminasque inlustres procacibus scriptis

diffamauerat (‘Augustus was the first to take cognizance of slanderous pamphlets under this type of law, having been stirred to action by the obscenity of Cassius Severus, which had defamed

distinguished men and women in his impudent writings’); see Walsh 1961a: 27-8. 122 Sen. Controv. 10 praef. 5; cf. Badian 1993: 37 n. 57.

33

enough not only to praise Caesar’s assassins but to do so in front of Caesar’s heir;

more seriously, he condemned those who conducted the proscriptions.123 Even if a

degree of anti-Caesarianism served the interests of a regime that presented itself as

‘republican’, as Syme posits, the emperor’s rôle in the proscriptions must still have

been a highly sensitive topic.124 Yet Cordus suffered no repercussions because of his

treatment of this subject under Augustus’ reign. In all likelihood Livy enjoyed a

similar degree of freedom. He was apparently unafraid of publishing a critical account

of the last dictator, and like Cordus he felt free to broach the subject of the

proscriptions.125 As Livy dealt with this most controversial aspect of the younger

Caesar’s career in Book 120, it is unlikely that he delayed the publication of his

subsequent books out of concern for affronting the princeps.126 The political climate

at Rome under Augustus does not seem to have given its historians reason for self-

censorship.127

Livy’s willingness to use his freedom of speech, however, is widely imagined

to have been affected by his personal relations with the princeps. As the previous

discussion showed, the significance of this purported amicitia has been interpreted in

different, often contradictory ways. Some interpret amicitia as a client-patron

relationship, making Livy a court historian whose writing reflects the official stance

of the princeps who employed him. Others maintain Livy’s independence, but propose

that he would have avoided giving offence to his powerful friend. A few have even

gone so far as to argue that it was Augustus who cultivated a friendship with the

historian without exercising any significant influence over him at all.128 Badian has

demonstrated, however, that the premises of this purported amicitia are extremely

weak.129 The foremost piece of evidence, the reference to their amicitia in the speech

123 Cordus praises Brutus and Cassius with Augustus in his audience: Suet. Tib. 61.3; cf. Cass. Dio

57.24.2-3; Tac. Ann. 4.34; Cordus condemns the proscriptions: Sen. Dial. 6.26.1; see Walsh 1961a:

27. 124 Badian 1993: 26 contra Syme doubts that Augustus would have actively encouraged the expression

of ‘republican’ or anti-Caesarian sentiments, although he permitted them, because he drew his

legitimacy from Diuus Iulius. 125 Livy’s critical view of Caesar: Sen. QNat. 5.18.4; Galinsky 1996: 286. Proscriptions: Livy Per. 120;

see Badian 1993: 26. 126 Syme 1959: 38-9; Chaplin 2010: 464-5. 127 Contra Miles 1995: 47-54, who argues that Livy adopted a deliberately ambiguous approach to

Roman history in order to ‘challenge his social and political superiors with a degree of safety’. Cf.

Burton’s 2000: 434 criticism of Miles’ analysis of Livy’s handling of the Cossus matter as ‘an unnecessarily difficult reading’. 128 Carney 1959: 4-5. 129 Badian 1993: 11-16.

34

of Cremutius Cordus in Tacitus’ Annales, is not an authentic quotation but a literary

fabrication crafted to suit the historical setting. 130 The words Tacitus puts in

Cremutius’ mouth may indeed reflect an authentic tradition, that Augustus called Livy

Pompeianus because of his laudatory depiction of Caesar’s great rival, yet displayed

no hostility towards the historian as a result.131 But the absence of hostility between

the writer and the princeps should not be equated with friendship or even close

contact.132 If a personal relationship between the two is not assumed from the outset,

the other evidence for their contact becomes much less convincing. There is nothing

in Livy’s own account to suggest that he learned about Augustus’ discovery of Cossus’

corslet from the princeps himself. Instead he writes hoc ego cum Augustum

Caesarem…ingressum aedem Feretri Iouis…se ipsum in thorace linteo scriptum

legisse audissem (4.20.7); this would be an oddly periphrastic way of saying that the

emperor told him about the corslet in person.133 The verb audissem, in Latin as in

English, more naturally indicates that Livy learned about Augustus’ claims

indirectly.134 He may have ‘heard’ about the linen corslet at a public meeting, or from

others who were aware of it, but his phrasing does not imply that he had any direct

contact with Rome’s ruler.135 Thus, the only unambiguous evidence for Livy having

contact with the imperial household is Suetonius’ reference to the historian

encouraging Claudius in his early efforts to write history. Yet Suetonius does not

indicate that Livy was employed to train Claudius, or that he acted as the young man’s

mentor. Livy’s contact with Claudius therefore appears to have been quite limited. It

does not reflect a more extensive involvement with Augustus or his household.136 In

the absence of more concrete evidence of a close connection between the historian and

130 Badian 1993: 11. 131 Badian 1993: 11-12; followed by Warrior 2006: 421. 132 Citing Brunt’s 1965 analysis of the range of meanings associated with amicitia, Badian 1993: 12

points out that even if Cremutius did apply to the term to Livy’s relationship with the emperor he may

not intended it to convey a sense of actual friendship; Badian’s argument is accepted by Warrior 2006:

421. 133 Badian 1993: 14-15. 134 Badian 1993: 14. Hence, 4.20.7 is probably more accurately translated: ‘I have heard that Augustus

Caesar…having entered the Temple of Jupiter Feretrius…read this [i.e. the inscription indicating that

Cossus had been a consul] written on the linen corslet himself’; cf. Warrior’s 2006 translation ‘I have

heard that Augustus Caesar…entered the temple of Jupiter Feretrius…and himself read the inscription

on the linen breastplate.’ 135 Badian 1993: 14-16; Warrior 2006: 280 n. 55, 422-3; followed by Levick 2015: 32. 136 Badian 1993: 12-13. Warrior 2005: 421-2 adds that even if Livy’s contact with Claudius does

indicate his involvement in imperial circles, as this occurred when Claudius was an adulescens (i.e.

during Augustus’ last decade), it does not suggest anything about the historian’s relationship with the

emperor during the early years of his project.

35

the princeps, there is no reason to believe that Livy would have tailored his history, in

whatever way, to take into account the wishes of Augustus or his regime.

1.3 Reassessing Livy’s background and the context of his work

The preceding analysis argues that, contrary to what has often been assumed, Livy’s

social status and the political context in which he wrote do not make him particularly

unlikely to have been politically-conscious or -informed. Nor, however, do they

necessarily imply that he must have been. What follows is an attempt to go beyond

these general considerations of Livy’s origins and social status by assessing the impact

of the specific circumstances of Livy’s formative years on his attitude to politics.

There is far too little information about the historian’s life to attempt anything

approaching a biographical sketch. Fortunately, the history of the first three decades

in which he lived are among the best documented in antiquity. It is therefore possible

to reconstruct the general conditions in which Livy grew up, and to imagine how these

conditions might have influenced his outlook. The following section relies heavily on

circumstantial evidence, so it must be admitted at the outset that its evaluations are

largely hypothetical. Nevertheless, it will be argued that the impression of the

formative influences of Livy’s youth given below accords well with the general

attitude to politics revealed by the AUC.

Livy was not born into a community of Roman citizens. Patavium was an

ancient Venetian settlement that, along with other Transpadane cities that had not

hitherto been Roman or Latin colonies, had been granted the ius Latii by the lex

Pompeia of 89, and received full Roman citizenship only in 49.137 No doubt some of

Patavium’s inhabitants were citizens before 49, however: the lex Pompeia

enfranchised everyone who held a magistracy in the newly-created Latin colonies, so

the political élite of Patavium would have been largely composed of Roman

citizens.138 If Livy belonged to a family of office-holders he would have inherited

citizenship at birth. But even if his family were not part of the local ruling class they

may still have been citizens. Livius is an old Roman nomen, which almost certainly

137 lex Pompeia: Asc. Pis. 3 Cl.; on its effects, see Chilver 1941: 7-8; Brunt 1971: 168; Salmon 1982: 134; Bispham 2007: 173-5. The grant of citizenship to the Transpadani in 49: Cass. Dio 41.36.3; cf.

FIRA I 20.13 (lex Roscia); Brunt 1971: 168. 138 Asc. Pis. 2-3 Cl.; see Chilver 1941: 7-8; Brunt 1971: 168 n. 4.

36

indicates that the historian’s ancestors were settlers rather than indigenous Venetii. 139

From the late third century several Roman and Latin colonies were established in

Gallia Cisalpina, and large territories had also been allocated through viritane

distribution to Romans and Latins.140 Livy’s forebears may well have been citizens

who had migrated to Patavium from one of the Roman colonies or from a part of the

ager Romanus, or indeed from one of the recently enfranchised former Latin colonies,

such as Aquileia.141 Ultimately, however, it probably makes little difference whether

Livy was a Roman citizen from birth or not. His cultural identity, so far as can be

determined from his history, is entirely Roman, and as he spent his entire adult life as

a citizen his political identity must have been entirely Roman too. Passing his

childhood in a family of citizens rather than Latins would have made only a marginal

difference to a boy in Patavium: at so great a distance from the comitia and the Saepta

the local ciues Romani would rarely have exercised their franchise. But the same was

true of most citizens in the Italian municipia, including the local equites. It has already

been stressed that this lack of regular participation should not be equated with a

complete detachment from politics among the upper classes of Italy. The citizens of

Gallia Cisalpina were not so distant from Rome that their votes could be discounted,

at least not in Cicero’s estimation.142 The non-citizens too (usually referred to as the

Transpadani) involved themselves in politics to the extent that they agitated for the

citizenship finally granted them in 49.143

Livy’s childhood, then, would not have been spent in a political vacuum, but

nor would he have been regularly exposed to the political affairs of the Roman res

139 T. Livius’ lack of a cognomen is not uncommon for citizens in the outlying territories of Italy during

the Augustan period: some twenty percent of freeborn males from contemporary Patavium lack

cognomina: see Chilver 1941: 59, with the graph p. 62. 140 On Roman and Latin settlement in Gallia Cisalpina, see Brunt 1971: 168, 190-8; Chilver 1941: 6-

7. 141 The Roman colonies of Mutina and Parma (founded in 183: Livy 39.55.5-9) were not very far from

Patavium. Brunt 1971: 168 argues that all of the Gallic land alloted to Romans and Latins in the viritane

distributions of 173 (Livy 43.1.5) had become ager Romanus by the first century; according to his

interpretation of the ius migrationis Latins who settled on ager Romanus could have become Roman

citizens (cf. Brunt 1965: 90). Thus there may well have been a sizeable population of Roman citizens

in the Po Valley by the time of Livy’s birth. Brunt (1971: 197) adds that ‘Some degree of settlement

after 173 is perhaps also required to explain the Romanization of the plain by the first century.’ 142 Cic. Att. 1.1.2: uidetur in suffragiis multum posse Gallia (‘Gaul seems to carry much weight in the

voting’); cf. Cic. Phil. 2.76; [Caes]. BGall. 8.50; see Brunt 1971: 168 n. 4. 143 Cass. Dio 37.9.3; Cic. Att. 5.2.3; Fam. 8.1.2; Suet. Iul. 8; Brunt 1971: 168. Brunt (172) notes that

the term Transpadani must include the population of Livy’s Venetia as well as the Gallic peoples north

of the Po.

37

publica. Nevertheless, even discussions of political events overheard at home can have

an impact on children.144 But even if Livy had grown up in Rome, the impact of

‘normal’ politics would have been minimal compared to the defining events of his

youth, the sequence of vicious civil wars initiated by Caesar’s invasion of Italy in 49.

The significance of these continual conflicts on the reflective and conscientious mind

that produced the AUC cannot be understated.145 It is not known if Livy personally

participated in the wars, but it is usually presumed that he did not, on the basis of his

depiction of warfare. His war narratives have often been judged too unrealistic to have

been produced by someone who had been on campaign or fought in battle.146 This

argument presupposes that Livy would have prioritised realism over his other literary

aims if he had had any military experience.147 But while the historian certainly aimed

at general verisimilitude, it is self-evident that he composed his war narratives with

other goals foremost in his mind. Livy’s descriptions of warfare are intended above

all to be lucid and compelling, to give his audience a clear outline of the sequence of

events that was also exciting and emotionally evocative.148 This may indeed mean that

the AUC’s depictions of warfare are unrealistic, but this has no bearing on whether its

author had any personal experience of war.149 There is a fair possibility that he did

serve during the civil wars, however.150 Depending on what year Livy’s birth is dated

to, he would have been eligible for conscription either from 47 or (more likely) from

144 Levick 2015: 25. 145 Cf. Levick 2015: 25. 146 E.g. Walsh 1961: 4, 144, 157-163, 273; Mellor 1999: 48-9, 61; Mehl 2011: 100, 104; Mineo 2015:

xxxiv; cf. Kraus 1997: 73. Walsh argues that Livy’s ignorance of warfare manifests itself in various

mistakes, including certain ‘howlers’ in the historian’s translation from Polybius’ Greek (cf. 1958: 83-

5). Koon 2010: 23-6 responds that these occasional errors hardly amount to a ‘crippling’ ignorance of

military affairs; indeed, sometimes they represent an intentional alteration by Livy that reflects his

thoughtful engagement with his sources. 147 It also assumes, falsely, that any personal familiarity with battle would be readily apparent in an

author’s writing: Ridley 1990: 133 n. 53. 148 Koon 2010: 26-7 on Livy’s battles; Roth 2006: 59-60 on his sieges. Moreover, Livy’s descriptions

of warfare were shaped by the expectations of genre and by the limitations of his sources (most of

which must have offered little detail): see Oakley 1997: 83-4; Roth 2006: 49-50; Koon 2010: 27-8, 30-

1. 149 Laistner 1947: 95; Ridley 1990: 133 n. 53; Koon 2010: 23; cf. Kraus 1994: 1 n. 1. An instructive

comparison can be drawn between Livy’s depictions battle and those of Caesar: despite their author’s

military experience, the battles in the Commentarii are also formulaic and simplified, and have been

deemed unrealistic by no less an authority on military matters than John Keegan 1976: 63-4: Koon

2010: 27. 150 Cf. Koon 2010: 23: ‘as an educated member of the élite, coming to age during the civil war period,

it is likely [Livy] would have had at least some military experience’; Ridley 1990: 133 n. 53: ‘it seems

that given these dates it is impossible for Livy to have escaped military service.’

38

42. 151 Equestrian youths, by tacit convention, may not have been subject to

conscription under normal circumstances. 152 The consecutive crises of the 40s,

however, created an enormous demand on Italian manpower, and a considerable

proportion of the citizen population of Italy volunteered or was conscripted to serve

at one time or another during that decade.153 Whether Livy served or not, it is probable

that many of his acquaintances, particularly men of his own generation, would have

fought in armies pitted against their fellow Romans. 154 His own community was

certainly involved, if only in a minor way, in the struggles of the dynasts following

Caesar’s assassination. The war between M. Antonius and the allies of D. Brutus

Albinus took place not far from Livy’s hometown. It saw Mutina besieged, Parma

sacked, and (according to Cicero) the province of Gallia Cisalpina ravaged by

Antonius’ army.155 Pitched battles with heavy losses on both sides were fought at

Forum Gallorum and Mutina. 156 Patavium, along with other Cisalpine cities, was

dragged into the war: according to Cicero, ‘the Patavines shut out some men sent by

Antonius and cast out others, aided our commanders with money, with soldiers, and –

what was greatly lacking – with arms’ (Phil. 12.10: Patauini alios excluserunt, alios

eiecerunt missos ab Antonio, pecunia, militibus, et, quod maxime deerat, armis

nostros duces adiuuerunt). If Livy was born in 64 (or if the usual minimum age for

151 Even during the late Republic conscription remained the standard method of recruitment, and

service remained obligatory, at least by law, for all assidui: see Smith 1958: 44-7; Brunt 1971: 391,

410; 1988: 255; 1990: 188; Keppie 1984: 62. If Livy did spend time in the army, his term of service

need not have been long: towards the end of the Republic, cavalrymen might expect to serve for as

little as three years, legionaries for six: Tabula Heracleensis 5.90, 100-2 (Crawford 1996: 1.306) = FIRA I, 13.90, 100-2; Brunt 1962: 80-1; 1971: 399-402, 490; 1988: 255-6, 267; Keppie 1984, 62, 76-

7. 152 See Keppie 1984: 79; 1996: 371; 1997: 6-7 and passim. Keppie’s argument rests in large part on

the apparent absence of Roman citizen cavalry during the late Republic. Equestrian youths had no legal

protection from conscription, however, and McCall 2002: 105-6, cf. 111 hypothesises that, given the

preference for soldiers from respectable (i.e. freeborn and propertied) backgrounds, in periods of high

pressure on Roman manpower some equites may have been conscripted into to serve as infantrymen.

Equites would otherwise have serve as officers in the late Republican armies: see de Blois 1987: 14-

15. 153 For the number of soldiers under arms during the 40s, see Brunt 1971: 473-98, 509-12. Brunt

estimates that some 80,000 men were recruited in Italy in 44-43, and a further 90,000 in 42-40. On the

use of conscription during the 40s, see Brunt 1971: 409, with the sources cited 635-7; 1990: 193. 154 Although a very high proportion of Italy’s young men served in the armies during the 40s and 30s,

by any estimate it is true that the majority did not: Brunt 1990: 192; cf. Brunt 1971: 509-12. 155 Siege of Mutina: App. B Civ. 3.49, 65; Brunt 1971: 290. Sack of Parma: Cic. Fam. 10.33.4; 11.13b;

cf. 12.5.2; Brunt 1971: 290. Cisalpina ravaged: Cic. Phil. 3.31; cf. 5.25; 7.15, 26; 12.9. Cicero

undoubtedly exaggerates for rhetorical effect, but it is not difficult to believe that Antonius would have subjected the region to forced requisitions to support his campaign: Brunt 1971: 290. 156 Forum Gallorum: App. B Civ. 3.66-70; Cic. Fam. 10.30. Mutina: App. B Civ. 3.71. Cf. Cic. Fam.

10.33.4 on the losses in these battles.

39

conscription was disregarded owing to pressures on manpower), it is possible that he

was among the men contributed by Patavium to the legions raised by D. Brutus before

he was besieged by Antonius.157 But if, unlikely as it seems, it is in fact true that Livy

‘stayed at home and read’, as Walsh believes, instead of taking part in the internecine

conflicts of the 40s and 30s, the experiences of his community and of his generation

in general cannot have failed to have had a profound impact on the young man.158

The horror to which Livy and his contemporaries were exposed by civil war

was compounded by the rule of the Triumvirate, established by the lex Titia of

November 43. In the months that followed, M. Antonius, Octavian, and M. Aemilius

Lepidus proscribed hundreds of senators and possibly thousands of equites Romani.159

Then, after their victory at Philippi in October 42, the triumvirs undertook to

recompense their soldiers through further property confiscations and land

redistributions.160 Again, there is no evidence that Livy fell prey the depredations of

43-40, but this does not mean that he was unaffected by them. It may be that no extant

account makes Livy, unlike Vergil, a victim of proscription or confiscation because,

as Syme argues, ‘The poet attracted scholiasts, but not the historian.’161 On the other

hand, tales about the victims of the proscriptions were prolific, so much so that they

almost constitute a genre of literature.162 If Livy or his family were known to have

been seriously affected, it is likely that after the historian gained some renown stories

about his experience of the proscriptions would have circulated. Given Livy’s

157 See Cic. Fam. 11.7.3; Phil. 5.36; 12.9; App. B Civ. 3.49, cf. 97; Brunt 1971: 481. Cf. Chilver 1941: 112 on recruitment in Cisalpina, arguing that with the grant of citizenship in 49 ‘a large proportion of

the troops who fought in the Civil Wars must have come from Cisalpine Gaul’. 158 Walsh 1961: 4. Cf. Ridley 1990: 134 on the importance of Livy’s experience of the civil wars to

the composition of the first decade. 159 See Brunt 1971: 326-8. 160 Appian B Civ. 4.3 reports that the land appropriations were planned in advance of the Philippi

campaign: eighteen wealthy towns were designated to provide the money and lands required, though

Appian only mentions Capua, Rhegium, Venusia, Beneventum, Nuceria, Ariminum, and Vibo. On the

confiscations see Brunt 1971: 290-1, 326-1; Keppie 1983. 161 Syme 1959: 54. On Vergil as a victim of land confiscation, see Suet. Vita Verg. 19-20. 162 See Osgood 2006: 65-81; cf. Syme 1939: 190 n. 6. The extent of this proscription literature is hinted

at by Cassius Dio (47.10-11) and reflected in the scores of individual stories reproduced by Appian (B

Civ. 4.1-51); cf. the episodes in Macrob. Sat. 1.11.16-20; Plin. HN 7.134; 13.25; 34.6; 37.81; Val. Max.

5.3.4-5; 6.7.2-3, 5-7; 7.3.8-9; 9.5.4; 9.11.5-7. The genesis of this literature is hinted at in two

contemporary accounts of survival during the proscriptions, Cornelius Nepos’ biography of T. Atticus

(Att. 10-11.2; 12.3-5), and the so-called Laudatio Turiae, a funerary inscription set up to commemorate

a woman by her husband, recalling her help when he was proscribed: see Osgood 2006: 67-74; on the Laudatio Turiae, see the commentaries of Durry 1992; Flach 1991; Wistrand 1976; for the Laudatio

in its wider context, see Osgood 2014. Accounts such as these probably formed the basis of the material

drawn on by later authors: Osgood 2006: 67, 74-5.

40

posthumous reputation, any such stories could not have failed to be recounted by later

authors. Livy’s life must not have been in danger at any point, and if his family were

subjected to confiscations then they were apparently not impoverished by them, as the

historian’s ability to pursue his vocation without employment or benefactor attests.

But again, even if Livy did not personally suffer under the Triumvirate, the collective

experience of his peers merits consideration. Livy’s social class, the wealthier land-

owners of Italy, were the particular victims of triumviral politics. 163 Hundreds,

possibly thousands of equites were proscribed and eliminated in 43-42.164 The depth

of the terror unleashed by the triumvirs is conveyed by the series of accounts preserved

by Appian.165 The survivors of the proscriptions, both in that year and when Octavian

returned from Philippi, suffered the loss of their wealth and land, sacrificed by the

dynasts to satisfy their soldiers.166 Though a lesser evil than death, the state-sanctioned

confiscation and redistribution of their land and money, on a scale unseen since Sulla,

was the realisation of the perennial fears of the Roman propertied classes.167 Livy’s

own visceral antipathy towards land redistribution in any form is quite clear, and may

legitimately be traced to the confiscations of the 40s.168 The strength of the reaction

that these provoked is manifest in the widespread revolts against the Triumvirate that

culminated in the Perusine War.169 Livy’s native territory of Gallia Cisalpina (which

163 See Brunt 1971: 327-8: ‘It was clearly the rich who suffered from the confiscations of 43-42,

whether their crime was political opposition to the triumvirs or wealth alone; to judge from the names

of those whose death or escape is mentioned individually, they were drawn from all over Italy and not

merely or indeed mainly from the old senatorial families.’ 164 Appian B Civ. 4.5 reports that two thousand equites were proscribed, but the accuracy of this figure is doubtful; he puts the number of senators proscribed at three hundred, which is higher than that given

by Plutarch (two hundred at Brut. 27; Cic. 46; however, at Ant. 20 he also puts the total at three

hundred), and those given by Florus 2.16, Orosius 6.18.10, and the Livian Periochae 120 (140, 132,

and 130 senators respectively), whose figures derive from Livy: see Brunt 1971: 326 with n. 3. Since

Appian’s total for the senators proscribed is apparently inflated, the same is probably true of his

equestrian total, though by how much is impossible to determine: see Hinard 1985: 264-69; Osgood

2006: 63 with n. 6. 165 App. B Civ. 4.1-51. Osgood (2006: 62-82, 108-151) provides an evocative overview of the

experience of the proscriptions and the appropriations after Philippi. A detailed study of the

proscriptions is provided by Hinard 1985. 166 App. B Civ. 5.5, 12-15; Brunt 1971, 326-8. 167 Cf. Brunt 1971, 291. Indignation at the land redistributions is voiced by contemporary authors, e.g.

Hor. Epist. 2.2.49-52; Prop. 4.1.128-130; Verg. Ecl.1, esp. 64-78; 9.2-6; most notable is the anonymous

Dirae, a poem cursing an estate tranferred to a soldier. Horace expresses a more stoical attitude to land

confiscation through his character Ofellus in Sat. 2.2, esp. 126-135; see Osgood 2006: 214-19. On

reactions to the land appropriations, see Osgood 2006: 108-151. 168 Livy’s attitude is aptly summed up by his description of agrarian laws as the poison of the tribunes of the plebs (2.52.2: suo ueneno). 169 Perusine War: App. B Civ. 27-49; cf. Vell. Pat. 2.74. The Perusine War as a reaction to the land

redistributions: App. B Civ. 5.12.13, 19; cf. Vell. Pat. 2.75 on the simultaneous revolt of Ti. Claudius

41

had ceased to be a province upon its incorporation into Italia in 42), with its wealth

and abundant lands, could hardly have escaped the ravages of 43-40.170 Patavium itself

probably attracted much unwanted attention, given its wealth and the size of its

equestrian population.171 A note in Macrobius describes the particular ruthlessness

with which the Patavine upper class was treated by the governor of the territory, none

other than C. Asinius Pollio.

Asinio etiam Pollione acerbe cogente Patauinos ut pecuniam et arma

conferrent dominisque ob hoc latentibus, praemio seruis cum libertate

proposito qui dominos suos proderent, constat seruorum nullum uictum

praemio dominum prodidisse (Macrob. Sat. 1.11.22).

Also, when Asinius Pollio was harshly compelling the Patavines to

contribute money and arms, and when because of this masters were in

hiding, he offered a reward together with their freedom to slaves who

betrayed their masters; it is agreed that none of the slaves was won over

by the reward to betray his master.

As with the wars, Livy’s feelings about politics and governance must have been

shaped both by the general experiences of his wider social group and by the specific

privations of his local community in Patavium, even if he himself came through the

late 40s unscathed.

Caesar’s invasion of Italy initiated a cycle of civil conflict that lasted for the

better part of two decades and reached its nadir in four years of bloody anarchy

following his death. Even without knowing his biographical details, it is not difficult

to imagine how these conditions might have affected the young Livy. An instructive

comparison is available in the poet Sex. Propertius. About ten years Livy’s junior,

Propertius was a child during the late 40s, yet the impact of those chaotic years on him

was profound.172 A decade or more later the siege and slaughter at Perusia, not far

from Propertius’ native Assisium, still provoked a visceral response in the poet:

Nero in Campania (which Velleius is at pains to distinguish from the Perusine War); see Brunt 1971:

290; Osgood 2006: 159-65. 170 Chilver 1941: 9. The wealth and prosperity of the Po Valley during Livy’s lifetime is attested by

Strabo 5.1.4, 12; see also Brunt 1971: 172, 178-9, 181-2. 171 Strabo reports that, according to a recent census – presumably that of A.D. 14 – Patavium ‘is said’

to have been home to no fewer than five hundred equites Romani (5.1.7: : ‘indeed it is said to have had five hundred men of

equestrian rank counted in the census recently’); while such hearsay very likely exaggerates the equestrian population of Livy’s home, it nonetheless reflects the city’s wealth, on which see Strabo

5.1.12; Brunt 1971: 200; Chilver 1941: 54-5. 172 Osgood 2006: 156-9, 168-71; date of birth: Enk 1946: 5.

42

si Perusina tibi patriae sunt nota sepulcra,

Italiae duris funera temporibus,

cum Romana suos egit discordia ciuis… (Prop. 1.22.3-5)

If our fatherland’s Perusine graves are known to you,

the ruin of Italy during hard times,

when Roman discord stirred up her citizens…

The poem goes on to mention the death of a kinsman during this conflict, whose corpse

was left unburied.173 Later still Propertius recalled with deep emotion how the civil

strife had affected his family directly. A poem attests to his enduring anger at the

confiscation of his family’s lands:

…et in tenuis cogeris ipse lares:

nam tua cum multi uersarent rura iuuenci,

abstulit excultas pertica tristis opes (Prop. 4.1.128-30).

…and you were compelled into a meagre hearth:

for although many young bullocks tilled your estates,

the pitiless surveying-rod took away that cultivated wealth.

The poem indicates that this took place before Propertius assumed the toga uirilis (that

is, while he was still a young boy), implying that the confiscation was a consequence

either of the proscriptions or of the settlement of the veterans after Philippi (4.1.131-

2). The premature death of the poet’s father is mentioned in the same context, which

implies that the elder Propertius fell victim to the disorders of the late 40s.174 Livy

may not have suffered the effects of these disorders as directly as Propertius, but his

adolescent mind would have been able to contextualise the disorders, to appreciate

their scale and significance more readily than his younger contemporary’s. It may

reasonably be assumed that the Patavine was comparably affected by the chaos of the

40s, that he too came to harbour a deep abhorrence of civil war and political

dissension, what Propertius calls discordia.

A similar impact is evident in the writings of other survivors of the turbulent

40s. After the pact between Octavian and Antonius at Brundisium in September 40 a

degree of normality was restored to Italy, with the subsequent dynastic wars largely

confined to the provinces. Nevertheless, the trauma of civil violence lingered as did

the sense of personal and material insecurity occasioned by the proscriptions,

confiscations, and famine of the preceding years. The literature of the late 40s and 30s

173 Prop. 1.22.6-8, cf. 1.21, addressed to the same fallen relative; see Osgood 2006: 158-9, 168-71. 174 Prop. 4.1.127-8; Osgood 2006: 158.

43

contains an undercurrent of unease, reflecting an awareness of the fragility of Italian

peace and of the dire consequences of discordia. discordia is blamed by Vergil in his

Eclogae (probably composed between 42 and 39) and by the unknown author of the

Dirae (written perhaps in the mid-30s) for the confiscation and redistribution of farms

to soldiers.175 Sallust’s historical works, too, evince a preoccupation with discordia.176

Naturally enough, this consciousness of the dreadful implications of political

disharmony did not encourage a great deal of optimism in the writers of the 30s. Even

in his fourth eclogue, a poem composed specifically to celebrate the dawn of a new

Golden Age (with the pact of Brundisium made between Octavian and Antonius in

September 40), Vergil could not quite bring himself to declare that universal peace

would follow immediately.177 In contrast, Horace in his seventh epode expects no end

to civil war at all. Probably written in the early 30s before the outbreak of war with

Sex. Pompeius, the poem anticipates the renewal of civil hostilities with a palpable

and entirely understandable war-weariness.178 In this pessimistic frame of mind, the

poet depicts fratricide as a national characteristic of the Roman people, a legacy of

their founder Romulus’ crime:

sic est: acerba fata Romanos agunt

scelusque fraternae necis,

ut immerentis fluxit in terram Remi

sacer nepotibus cruor (Hor. Epod.7.17-20).

So it is: a harsh fate and the crime

of fraternal murder drives the Romans on,

ever since the blood of guiltless Remus flowed

into the earth, a curse on his descendants.

Horace implies that fraternal bloodshed is inexorable, and hence that the cycle of

violence will continue indefinitely. The impression is reinforced by the penultimate

epode (16.1-14), which opens with another lament about civil war. Foreseeing Rome’s

self-destruction, Horace fantasises about the entire ciuitas sailing away to the Blessed

Isles (16.15-66). This poem was obviously written before the jubilant ninth epode

175 Dir. 82-3; Verg. Ecl.1.71; Osgood 2006: 153-4, 165. 176 Osgood 2006: 154; on discordia as a theme in the Bellum Iugurthinum, see Kraus 1999. 177 N.B. Verg. Ecl. 4.31-6, cf. the use of the future tense in 11-14; Osgood 2006: 154, cf. 199-200.

Farrell 2005: 46 points out that the force of Ecl. 4 is somewhat obviated by the overall impression of the collection in which it was published, which is ‘one of regret for a lost world’. On the context and

significance of Ecl. 4 see Osgood 2006: 193-201. 178 See Osgood 2006: 200-1.

44

celebrating Octavian’s victory at Actium, and together with the seventh it conveys a

sense of profound pessimism engendered by the poet’s earlier experiences of civil

discord.179

Livy’s history was a product of the same milieu of apprehension, a product,

indeed, of the 30s. The AUC was once regarded as a firmly Augustan piece of

literature, composed after the ‘restoration’ of the res publica in 27. The trend in Livian

scholarship, however, has been to move his starting date further back in time, closer

to the period of civil war that came to an end with the death of Antonius in August

30.180 In older scholarship, the composition of the first pentad is usually dated to

between 27 and 25: the earlier date derived from Livy’s use of the name Augustus,

bestowed on Octavian on 13 January 27, the latter from Livy’s reference to Augsutus’

first closing of the Temple of Janus in 29 but not to the second closing in 25.181 A

group of scholars subsequently suggested that the references to Augustus are

interpolations, introduced by Livy into a later edition of his first pentad; this has been

widely accepted since Luce’s penetrating 1965 article.182 If a second edition of the

first pentad was published between 27 and 25, Livy must have started his work some

years before this. Most commentators favour a date not long after the Battle of Actium

(2 September 31), usually c. 29.183 Some, however, propose an even earlier starting

date, sometime before Actium.184 Recently, Paul J. Burton has argued that internal

evidence suggests that Book 1 was begun in 33 or early 32.185 If this hypothesis is

179 Farrell 2005: 47. 180 For an overview of attempts to date Livy’s first pentad and the praefatio, see Burton 2000: 430-6,

with bibliography 430 n. 4. 181 Augustus: 1.19.3; 4.20.5-11; first closing of the Temple of Janus: 1.19.3; see Burton 2000: 430-2. 182 The possibility of interpolations was first raised by Soltau 1894: 611-12; followed by Syme 1959:

43; Bayet 1961: xvii-xv; Petersen 1961: 440; Luce 1965; see Burton 2000: 432-3, 435. 183 E.g. Bayet 1940: xviii-xix (c. 31-29); Syme 1959: 41, 42-50 (29); Ogilvie 1965: 2, 94 (29); Badian

1991: 18 (c. 30-28); Mellor 1999: 71; Luce 1965: 238 suggests a date of around the Battle of Actium;

Mensching 1967: 22 however, rejects the idea that 1.19.3 is an insertion and favours the traditional

starting date of 27. For a summary of their justifications, see Burton 2000: 436-8. 184 E.g. Woodman 1988: 132; Galinsky 1996: 281; Duff 2003: 84; Levene 2011: 284. 185 Burton 2000: 438-45. Burton interprets a comment in Livy’s account of the construction of the

Cloaca Maxima and of new seats in the Circus Maximus (1.56.2: quibus duobus operibus uix noua

haec magnificentia quicquam adaequare potuit: ‘two works which this new splendour has been barely

able to equal in any way’) as a reference to public works undertaken by M. Agrippa during his aedilate

in 33 (see Cass. Dio 49.43.1-2; Plin. HN 36.104; Strabo 5.3.8). Burton argues that a starting date of not

long after 33 is corroborated by Livy’s silence in Book I about the restoration of the Temple of Jupiter

Feretrius. Octavian undertook the restoration at the urging of T. Pomponius Atticus (Nep. Att. 20.3): since Atticus died in March 32 (Nep. Att. 22.3), the restoration of the temple must have begun before

this date. Logically, Livy must have begun writing his first book after Agrippa’s projects and before

Atticus’ death, therefore between 33 and early 32.

45

correct, then Livy started writing his history ‘when the world of the Republic – the

only one he had ever known – was tottering on the edge of destruction, not when it

was being “restored” ’.186 In 33 and early 32 tensions between Octavian and Antonius

were rising, and many must have foreseen the coming civil war.187 A starting date of

around 33 would certainly account for the gloomy tone of Livy’s praefatio, which, if

Burton’s dating is correct, may have been written on the eve of or indeed during the

War of Actium.188

1.3 Livy’s pessimistic history

The pessimism evinced by Livy’s introduction has often been noted, yet has rarely

been afforded the prominence it deserves in interpreting his work. 189 Even Syme,

shortly after discussing the negativity of the praefatio, goes on to pronounce Livy

unaffected by the turmoil of his youth and contrasts him with the ‘bitter and

pessimistic’ Sallust and Pollio.190 Syme and others have underemphasised the younger

historian’s own apprehension in large part because they have tended to regard him as

an enthusiastic supporter of Augustus’ dispensation and its offer of peace, as an earlier

discussion has shown.191 Section 1.2 also demonstrated that this position is based in

large part on dubious assumptions about Livy’s background and social class. But the

claim that Livy took to the principate with alacrity is not justified by any self-evident

indications in the AUC itself. The tone of the praefatio certainly does not reflect Livy’s

alleged enthusiasm, either about the princeps or the prospect of a lasting peace.192 The

historian depicts the troubles of recent years as an ongoing problem, even justifying

his decision to write about antiquity by the welcome distraction this will afford him:

186 Burton 2000: 446. 187 See Syme 1939: 276-93. 188 Burton 2000: 444-5. It is considered likely that Livy wrote and published Book 1 independently;

then, when the public proved receptive, Livy composed Books 2-5 and released his first pentad as a

single unit, with a new preface to accompany it: see Burton 2000: 444-5. 189 Livy’s pessimism is usually mentioned only in passing, and mostly in connection with the praefatio,

e.g. Syme 1939, 335-6, 441 n. 4; 1959: 42, cf. 49; Carney 1959: 4; Walsh 1961: 18, 271-2; 1961a: 31;

1982: 1063-4; Woodman 1988: 138; Badian 1993: 17; Duff 2003: 83-5; Moles 2009: 69; Levene 2011:

284. Exceptions to this include Mellor 1999: 50-1. 190 Syme 1959: 57. 191 Syme 1959: 75. Walsh 1961: 272 is an exception insofar as he considers Livy ‘only superficially

affected by the Augustan Zeitgeist’, but in stressing Livy’s ‘Republican’ influences he underestimates the impact of the upheavals of the historian’s youth, declaring that his work ‘would not have been

vastly different if Livy had written thirty years earlier.’ 192 Badian 1993: 18-19; Warrior 2006: 422; cf. Carney 1959: 4.

46

ego…quoque laboris praemium petam, ut me a conspectu malorum

quae nostra tot per annos uidit aetas, tantisper certe dum prisca illa tota

mente repeto, auertam, omnis expers curae quae scribentis animum,

etsi non flectere a uero, sollicitam tamen efficere posset (praef. 5).

I…shall also seek this reward for my labour: that I may turn away from

the sight of the evils which our age has been seeing for so many years

for the short time while, completely absorbed, I retrace those early

times, free of all concern that, if it cannot divert it from the truth, can

nevertheless trouble the soul of one writing.

There is no suggestion that he considers these mala to have ended, or that he foresees

their end shortly.193 Likewise, when he describes his nation’s problems in terms of

moral decline, he locates these troubles firmly in the present.194 And again, for Livy

there is no end in sight: the meaning of remedia will be discussed shortly, but if for

the sake of argument it is accepted that the term does contain a veiled reference to the

Augustan principate, it should also be noted that Livy does not expect this cure to be

effective: ‘we can endure neither our vices nor their cures’ (praef. 9: nec uitia nostra

nec remedia pati possumus). There is no support here for the idea that Livy welcomed

Augustus’ rule or associated it with the impending restoration of order and peace.

Meanwhile, the brief mentions of the emperor in the history (and there are very few)

reflect a respectful but otherwise neutral attitude.195 The history may also contain more

allusive references to Augustus, and many scholars have discerned parallels between

various prominent characters and the princeps. 196 The problem with attempts to

discern Livy’s attitude from these supposed parallels is that they inevitably rely on a

priori assumptions about what the author’s views ought to be. Thus, if Livy is assigned

a positive attitude towards the princeps, his laudatory portrayals of figures such as

Camillus can be interpreted as positive allusions to Augustus. Equally, if Livy is

considered ambivalent towards Augustus, then critical elements in his depictions of

Romulus and Camillus can be taken as veiled criticisms of the princeps. Without

denying that Livy responded to contemporary events in his writing, it seems doubtful

that any meaningful information about the historian’s view of the regime can be

derived from his depiction of the great figures of Roman history, especially since most

193 Cf. Warrior 2006: 2 n. 7. 194 praef. 9: donec ad haec tempora; praef. 12: nuper. 195 Mellor 1999: 71; cf. Ridley 1990: 133-4. Augustus is mentioned at 1.19.3; 4.20.7; 28.12.12. 196 More tentatively, Miles 1995: 88-94 (Augustus and Livy’s Camillus), 164 (Augustus and Romulus).

47

of these figures appear in books which likely predate the principate.197 All that can be

said with certainty of Livy’s attitude towards the principate is that his extant work

does not manifest any particular enthusiasm for it. For this reason, and on the

chronological grounds outlined above, Livy’s project at its inception should not be

thought of as ‘Augustan’. As Ronald T. Ridley rightly recognises, the historian’s

outlook at the beginning of his work was shaped far more by two decades of continual

civil war than by the regime which was then still in its infancy.198

The shadow cast by the conflicts of the 40s and 30s likely fell not only on the

first decade of the AUC, but over later books, too. The pessimism expressed in the

praefatio may be the product of the civil wars, but it would not have been out of place

in the first decade of Augustus’ rule.199 Octavian’s victory over Antonius made a

lasting peace conceivable but by no means certain.200 The moments of peace in the

past twenty years had proved all too brief, and many Romans will have been too

sceptical to invest much confidence in the latest one.201 There were tense moments in

the years following Actium in which the fragile peace must have appeared to be in

jeopardy. Since his youth the princeps had suffered bad health; a bout of illness during

his Cantabrian campaign delayed his return to Rome in 24, where after a brief respite

he became so grievously ill in 23 that he entrusted important state documents to his

co-consul and gave his signet-ring to Agrippa, seemingly in preparation for his

death.202 Though Augustus recovered, few can have anticipated that he would live as

long as he did, and the likelihood of civil war in the event of his death must have

seemed high.203 The princeps also survived several conspiracies, including one led by

M. Lepidus, the son of the triumvir, immediately after Actium. 204 Though he had

197 Contra Mineo 2015a: 129-31. See the criticisms of Laistner 1947: 97-8; Walsh 1961: 16-18; Ridley

1990: 133-4; Badian 1993: 19-21; Fox 2015: 294-5; Oakley 2015: 240. Gaertner 2008 demonstrates

that supposedly Augustan elements in Livy’s Camillus narrative are late Republican; Oakley 2015:

240 points out that Livy’s depiction of Camillus is as likely to have invited comparison with figures

such as Cn. Pompeius Magnus, M. Licinus Crassus, Cicero, and Caesar, as with Augustus; too great a

focus on the princeps on the part of modern scholars risks obscuring the resonances historical figures

would have had for Livy’s contemporaries. 198 Ridley 1990: 134. 199 Syme 1939: 335-6; 1959: 43, 49; Warrior 2006: 2 n. 7; Moles 2009: 68-9. Thus the tone of the

praefatio alone does not preclude the possibility that it was written after Actium. 200 Warrior 2006: 2 n. 7. 201 Cf. Syme 1939: 335-6; Warrior 2006: 2 n. 7. 202 Cass. Dio 53.25.7 (cf. 53.27.5, 28.1); 53.30.1-2; Suet. Aug. 81.1; Syme 1939: 332-3, 335. 203 Syme 1959: 49; cf. Syme 1939: 336. 204 Suet. Aug. 19.1; Vell. Pat. 2.88. A list of conspiracies and rebellions survived by Augustus is

provided, with scant detail, by Suet. Aug. 19.

48

eliminated his only real rival at Alexandria the emperor clearly remained wary of

prominent and powerful figures, and an atmosphere of suspicion seems to have

prevailed during the 20s. Real or imagined threats to Augustus’ supremacy resulted in

the prosecution for treason of two governors of strategically important provinces, C.

Cornelius Gallus the prefect of Egypt in 28/27, and M. Primus the proconsul of

Macedonia in 23.205 The latter was defended by Varro Murena, Augustus’ colleague

in the consulship of 23 who, together with one Fannius Caepio, was implicated in a

plot against the princeps in the same year.206 The conspiracy of Murena and Augustus’

severe illness soon after it apparently brought the fragility of the Augustan settlement

to light, for it seems that steps were taken to consolidate the regime.207 Even at this

time, as Syme points out, the memory of the assasination of Caesar and the civil wars

and proscriptions that followed was fresh, and the regime’s jubilant propaganda in the

wake of Actium does not entirely obscure ‘a deep sense of disquiet and insecurity, still

to be detected in contemporary literature’.208 Syme cites the second of Horace’s first

collection of odes, composed between 29 and 23, with its lingering horror of civil war

and its prayer for security.209 He also cites Livy’s praefatio, and although it was

probably composed earlier than Syme believes, it may be significant that Livy never

rewrote his preface to convey a more optimistic outlook, even after the closing(s) of

the Temple of Janus or the ‘restoration’ of the res publica.210 Indeed, even after a

period of peace Livy’s view of the res publica’s prospects for survival had not

improved dramatically.211 By the time Livy came to his ninth book Rome had enjoyed

some years of internal peace and concord. He mentions this fact in passing at the end

of his excursus on Alexander the Great when he asserts that Rome’s armies would

205 Gallus: Cass. Dio 53.23.5-7; Suet. Aug. 66.2; Syme 1939: 309-10. Primus: Cass. Dio 54.3.2-3; Syme

1939: 333. The princeps’ wariness about allowing powerful men to become too prominent is probably

also the reason that M. Licinius Crassus did not claim his right to dedicate the spolia opima in 28/27: Cass. Dio 51.24.4; see Dessau 1906; Syme 1939: 308-9, 310; Rich 1996: 106-9. (Incidentally, Dessau

proposed that it was in this context that the princeps made public his ‘discovery’ about Cossus’ corslet

and his consular rank, in an effort to deny Crassus, a proconsul, any appeal to the precedent of someone

without the auspices claiming the spolia opima. Dessau’s thesis is generally accepted; Rich 1996: 112-

121 and passim, however, argues that the princeps’ interest in Cossus’ rank was antiquarian in nature,

and unrelated to Crassus; for a sceptical reply, see Levick 2015: 31-2.) 206 Cass. Dio 54.3.4-8; Suet. Aug. 19.1; Vell. Pat. 2.91.2; See Syme 1939: 333-4. 207 The so-called settlement of 23, which was probably when the tribunicia potestas was formally

conferred on Augustus: see Syme 1939: 335-8. Syme 1939: 339-46 also argues that measures were

taken to ensure that power would be transferred smoothly to Agrippa in the event of the princeps’

death. 208 Syme 1939: 335; cf. Syme 1959: 49. 209 Hor. Carm. 1.2, esp. 25-52; Syme 1939: 335-6; cf. Syme 1959: 49. 210 Badian 1993: 18-19. 211 Cf. Badian 1993: 19.

49

continue to triumph over Hellenic arms ‘if only the love of this peace in which we are

living endures, along with concern for civil concord’ (9.19.17: modo sit perpetuus

huius qua uiuimus pacis amor et ciuilis cura concordiae). This comment – and Livy’s

preceding plea, ‘may civil wars be silent!’ (9.19.15: ciuilia bella sileant) – does not

express an abundance of confidence in the pax Augusta. It is reasonable to infer that

Livy’s apprehension persisted for at least as long as the instability that plagued

Augustus’ principate. By that time, however, most of the extant books of the AUC

must have been complete. It therefore stands to reason that anxiety about a renewal of

civil strife accompanied both the conception of the Livy’s history and the composition

of most of what remains of it.

The pessimism engendered by the upheavals of Livy’s early years is essential

to understanding his aims and intentions. The praefatio makes it clear that Livy

initially thought of Rome’s history in organic terms, as one of growth, maturity, and

inevitable decline.212

ad illa mihi pro se quisque acriter intendat animum, quae uita, qui

mores fuerint, per quos uiros quibusque artibus domi militiaeque et

partum et auctum imperium sit; labante deinde paulatim disciplina

uelut dissidentes primo mores sequatur animo, deinde ut magis

magisque lapsi sint, tum ire coeperint praecipites, donec ad haec

tempora quibus nec uitia nostra nec remedia pati possumus peruentum

est (praef. 9).

I would have every man direct his attention keenly to these matters:

what life and morals there were; through what men and which skills in

domestic and military affairs imperium was established and increased;

then let him follow in his mind how morals are first subsiding as

disciplina gives way little by little, then slipping more and more, and

thereafter start to collapse headlong, until finally it has come to these

times in which we can endure neither our vices nor their cures.

This passage seems to suggest that the historian intended to end his account at what

he considered the final, fatal moments of the Roman nation.213 P. A. Stadter argues for

structural reasons that Book 120 marked the end of Livy’s original project.214 This is

the most plausible explanation for the author’s decision not to publish his subsequent

212 Cf. Walsh 1961: 65-6; Woodman 1988: 130-2; Duff 2003: 84-5. 213 Duff 2003: 85. 214 Stadter 1972: the crux of his argument is that since the extant portions of the AUC consist of pentads and decades, there is no reason to assume that Livy abandoned this structure in his lost books; this is

borne out by his examination of the Periochae, at least for Books 1-120, hence these books constitute

Livy’s original project; accepted by Woodman 1988: 136; Mellor 1999: 49; Duff 2003: 79, 85.

50

work: in all probability they represent a separate project, his contemporary historiae,

probably incomplete at the time of his death, as distinct from his annales of the more

remote past. 215 Book 120 described the inception of the Triumvirate, the official

condemnation of Caesar’s assassins, and the proscription of the triumvirs’ enemies; it

also included an account of M. Brutus’ activities in Greece.216 Livy therefore decided

to end his history with the suspension of libertas by the Triumvirate and the terror of

the proscriptions, at the same time foreshadowing the coming civil war between the

triumvirs and the Liberatores. This is an appropriate choice of end-point for a history

of Rome’s rise and fall, and an unsurprising one, too, in view of how that period must

have affected the author. By the time Livy actually came to write Book 120 his

historical outlook might well have changed, becoming more positive about Rome’s

prospects as the pax Augusta endured and the memory of the civil wars faded.217 This

would explain his decision to continue writing, to give an account of Rome’s survival

and the revival of its fortunes.218 But his original project was conceived and begun in

a mood of despair and was intended to highlight Roman decline to the present.219

Syme’s impression that Livy was ‘relatively untouched by the era of

tribulation’ is misleading. Twenty years of violence and insecurity had given the

young Patavine a startlingly pessimistic conception of the trajectory of Roman history.

But rather than averting his eyes from the painful sight of present, Livy chose to

confront it by writing the history of how Rome had arrived its current woeful state.220

Though he begins in the distant past, Livy’s gaze is fixed firmly on the present.221 The

215 Cf. Mehl 2011: 101-2, pointing out that Drusus’ death in 9 at the end of Book 142 is too insignificant

an event to have been chosen to conclude Livy’s grand history. 216 Per. 120. Livy’s account of Cicero’s death, preserved in Sen. Suas. 6.17, may have been the end of

the book ‘Since Cicero had come almost to symbolise the republic’: Woodman 1998: 136; see also

Mellor 1999: 49; Duff 2003: 79, 85. Henderson 1989 offers an interesting critique (which,

characteristically of its author and no doubt intentionally, leaves the reader with more questions than

answers) of the idea that Book 120 marked the end of the Livy’s original project, suggesting that Livy’s

history had no end point. But Stadter’s case, based on the symmetry of the 120-book narrative, remains

convincing. Indeed, Henderson 1997: 106 admits that the death of Cicero ‘has proved a convincing

putative terminus for the [AUC] in its original conception’, though he does not necessarily include

himself among the convinced. 217 Woodman 1988: 138; Duff 2003: 85; Levene 2011: 284; Mehl 2011: 106-7. 218 Duff 2003: 79, 85-6. Books 121-42 are still better regarded as a separate work rather than an updated

ending to the AUC. 219 Duff 2003: 85. 220 Moles 2009: 76-7, 85. 221 Moles 2009: 85; Levene 2011: 284-5. Livy’s claim (praef. 4-5; accepted at face value by Walsh 1961: 65 and Ogilvie 1965: 25) that, while his readership may be eager to read about modern events,

he will take greater pleasure in directing his attention away from contemporary troubles, is not actually

born out by his work. He devotes less attention to Roman antiquity than he could have (compare

51

historian was mindful of the res publica’s slow political disintegration throughout the

composition of his work. It therefore stands to reason that, far from being an apolitical

text, the AUC is suffused with an awareness of its own potential political significance.

Livy’s mindfulness of politics is apparent in the purpose as well as the

narrative arc of his history. Although worried about Rome’s current infirmity, Livy

believes that cures are available, albeit ones that his contemporaries find difficult to

swallow (praef. 9). As mentioned, the remedia of praefatio 9 have often been

identified, at least in part, with the Augustan principate. This interpretation is not

justified. It attributes to Livy a readiness to accept autocracy that is utterly incongruous

with his otherwise traditional Roman outlook.222 It also assumes that Livy would have

associated autocracy with the prospect of a lasting peace: a highly implausible thesis,

given the failure of Rome’s most recent autocrat and the horrors that followed his

death. Moreover, the early dating for the composition of the praefatio suggested above

would obviously preclude any reference to the Augustan settlement. Woodman,

arguing that Livy began writing before Actium, proposes that the historian is alluding

not to Augustus specifically but to the institution of monarchy in general.223 The same

objections apply to this proposal as to the idea that he could have supported Augustus’

monarchy, with the added objection that it attributes to Livy an improbable

prescience.224 The urge to project a teleological view of Roman history onto Livy must

be resisted. Everything considered, it is extremely unlikely that Livy would have

Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ far more detailed account) and dedicates fully half of his original 120

books to the previous century: see Levene 2011: 284-5. Marincola 1997: 140-1 makes a convincing

case that Livy’s presentation of his work as a form of escapism is a rhetorical device, ‘an elaborate

diminutio that allows him to avoid completely the question of his own qualifications and experience’. 222 Walsh 1961a: 31; cf. Martin 2015: 268, who stresses that Livy chose to retain the praefatio with its

original ‘republican’ spirit. This objection applies as much to those who believe that Livy was

apprehensive about the principate, e.g. Mellor 1999: 71, as to those who imagine Livy welcoming it.

Here again, the idea that Livy could have accepted autocracy is justified on the spurious basis of class.

Livy’s treatment of the subject in Book 1 indicates that he held a generally negative view of monarchy.

Martin 2015: 264-7 argues that Livy views monarchy as ‘intrinsically bad, in that it forbids the

exercising of the supreme civil good, libertas’: thus, although in accordance with Livy’s understanding

of the evolution of governmental systems, monarchy is a necessary starting point for Roman history,

this does not make monarchy desirable. Furthermore, at 1.6.4 Livy denounces the desire to rule as a

monarch, regni cupido, as auitum malum, illustrated by the fratricidal struggle between Romulus and

Remus: Martin 2015: 265. 223 Woodman 1988: 134-5. Galinsky 1996: 281-2 more tentatively suggests that remedia may refer to ‘some kind of constitutional autocracy’, while admitting alternative possibilities. 224 Indeed, Walsh 1961: 163 and 1961a: 29 specifically criticises Livy for lacking the foresight to see

the inevitability of monarchy.

52

imagined that monarchy could cure Rome’s ills.225 It has also been argued that at least

one component of the intolerable remedia was a revival of traditional morality. In fact,

some commentators have seen in remedia a specific allusion to a thwarted attempt by

Augustus to introduce moral legislation governing marriage in the early 20s,

legislation to which Propertius supposedly refers.226 This interpretation, too, ought to

be rejected: Syme and Moles have quite rightly argued that a comment about any

specific legislation is too trivial to be appropriate in the introduction to the most

ambitious history of the Roman people yet undertaken; Livy is expressing more

general concerns.227 It is far more likely that Livy was making a point about the need

for moral revival in general.228

That moral instruction is the primary function of the AUC is universally

acknowledged.229 It is stated plainly in the praefatio:

hoc illud est praecipue in cognitione rerum salubre ac frugiferum,

omnis te exempli documenta in inlustri posita monumento intueri; inde

tibi tuaeque rei publicae quod imitere capias, inde foedum inceptu

foedum exitu quod uites (praef. 10).

This is the thing that is especially salutary and fruitful in learning

history: that you behold lessons of every model as though they were set

forth on a conspicuous monument; that from these you choose for

yourself and for your res publica what to imitate, and from these what

to avoid as despicable in its undertaking and despicable in its result.

What has been insufficiently recognised is the political dimension of Livy’s

moralising, despite his statement that the documenta afforded by history are as

pertinent to a person’s res publica as well as to his private conduct.230 This is because,

as ever, the historian is not considered interested in politics. Indeed, there has been a

tendency to distinguish Livy from certain other Roman historians, above all Sallust

225 Contra Martin 2015: 269, who, while stressing Livy’s general ‘republicanism’ and his hostility to

regnum, nevertheless interprets the opening words of Book 2 (liberi iam hinc) to mean that Livy

thought the that res publica and libertas endured, or had been revived, thanks to the princeps. 226 Prop. 2.7.1-3; see e.g. Dessau 1903: 461-2; Ogilvie 1965: 28. 227 Syme 1959: 42; Moles 2009: 69. See also Galinsky 1996: 281-2, who questions the interpretation

on chronological grounds, arguing that the praefatio predates Actium and, as such, any possible moral

legislation by the princeps; Woodman 1988: 132-134 and Badian 1993: 17 question the interpretation

by casting doubt on the very existence of any early marriage law, which is after all inferred from a

solitary and opaque allusion in a line of poetry without any direct evidence to support it; cf. Badian

1985. 228 Walsh 1961a: 29. 229 An extensive analysis of Livy’s moral aims are provided by Walsh 1961: 39-40, 66-109. 230 Kraus 1997: 55-6 give due emphasis to the fact that Livy is addressing his reader as a citizen as well

as a private individual in this passage.

53

and Tacitus, precisely because he is viewed as a moralist rather than an historian with

political concerns writing primarily for a politically-active audience. 231 Syme in

particular presses this interpretation, declaring Livy an anomaly in the development

of serious Roman historiography between Sallust and Tacitus and contrasting Livy’s

‘moral’ and ‘benevolent’ annales with their ‘sombre and pessimistic conception of

politics and of human nature’.232 Yet no such distinction existed in antiquity, and on

closer examination this modern artifice collapses. 233 Tacitus, like Livy, sets out

explicitly moral aims in his Annales and intends his Historiae to provide good moral

exemplars, bona exempla.234 Tacitus and Sallust no less that Livy see moral decay at

the heart of Rome’s political troubles.235 On the other hand, like Sallust and Tacitus

Livy is conscious of the social and institutional problems in politics.236 Livy is thus

operating within the same tradition as Sallust and Tacitus, so it is unreasonable to

assert that his historical concerns are somehow distinct in any essential way from

theirs. Ancient historians did not distinguish the moral realm from the political the

way some modern scholars are wont to do. The Roman conception of society, and

Livy’s in particular, is more integrated, with morality incorporated into all of its

aspects and therefore inseparable from politics. 237 Hence, political problems were

explained in terms of the moral failings of individuals, such as ambition; similarly,

economic problems might be attributed to greed.238 Thus for Livy, contemporary

political troubles are a symptom of the general malaise afflicting Roman

civilisation. 239 Again, this is quite clear from his reflections in the praefatio. In

outlining his understanding of Roman history, he relates Rome’s successes to its

former uprightness, and its current ills to uitia, moral failings, emphasising especially

auaritia and luxuria (praef. 9-12). These vices are the cause of public as well as private

ruin:

231 E.g. Syme 1959: 56-7, 75; Ogilvie 1965: 3; Badian 1966; Mellor 1999: 56. 232 Syme 1959: 75. 233 See Levene 2011: 276-80 for a critique of the idea of a dichotomy of political and non-political

historians. 234 Tac. Ann. 3.65.1; Hist. 1.3.1; Walsh 1961: 39. 235 E.g. Sall. Cat. 5.8-9; 10-14; Iug. 4.7-9; 41.1-5; Tac. Ann. 1.2; 1.4.1-2; 3.65; cf. Hist. 1.2.2-3. See

Levick 2015: 25, on Sallust and Livy’s moralising interpretation of late Republican political turmoil. 236 As his account of the ‘Struggles of the Orders’ clearly illustrates: see Ridley 1990: 109-21; Connolly

2009: 190-3; Levene 2011: 286. 237 Earl 1967: 11-43; Edwards 1993: 4; cf. 24-32 on the importance of morality in the self-regulation

of the Roman political and social élite. Cf. Mellor 1999: 56. 238 Edwards 1993: 4. 239 Levick 2015: 25.

54

nuper diuitiae auaritiam et abundantes uoluptates desiderium per luxum

atque libidinem pereundi perdendique omnia inuexere (praef. 12).

Lately riches have brought in greed, and excessive pleasures a longing

to ruin ourselves and destroy everything through soft living and

wantonness.

pereundi perdendique omnia obviously refers to more than just personal immorality:

in the context of the author’s preceding comments about decline of Rome’s fortunes

and the mala of his own times, this is clearly another allusion to political strife and

civil war. Livy believes that a return to ancient moral standards would cure Rome of

its ills, including its recurrent political turmoil; he doubts, however, that his degenerate

contemporaries have the fortitude or even the desire to emulate the conduct of the

maiores. Hence, Romans can bear neither their uitia, which are destroying them, nor

their remedia, a resumption of antique disciplina for which they have no stomach,

corrupted as they are by luxury and greed. Since the purpose of the AUC is to provide

moral guidance so that Rome might recover its morale and its former stature, it may

legitimately be described as having a political purpose – nothing less than the

rehabilitation of the res publica. Rather than writing for an apolitical audience,

therefore, Livy seems to have intended his moral lessons for the men in positions that

would allow them to effect the hoped-for change in Rome’s state of affairs.240 On this

matter Walsh’s assessment is quite astute: the purpose of Livy’s moralising is

to demonstrate to posterity that national greatness cannot be achieved

without the possession, especially by the leading men of the state, of

the attributes which promote a healthy morality and wisdom in external

and domestic policies.241

Politics is therefore a central concern of the AUC insofar as its purpose is to illuminate

the causes for both Rome’s success and more recent failing. The decline of morals is

specifically equated with the political collapse of the res publica. The revival of the

res publica through the restoration of an effective political order could only be brought

about by a widespread reversion to mos maiorum.

Livy is not an apolitical author. His experience of politics, or rather of political

discord, during his formative years was overwhelmingly negative, but his response

was not to turn his thoughts elsewhere, content to leave politics to the professionals,

240 Duff 2003: 86; contra Marincola 1997: 29. 241 Walsh 1961: 66; cf. 40.

55

as it were, or to Rome’s new princeps. During a period of uncertainly, with the

memory of war and proscriptions foremost in his mind, Livy set out to produce a

history that would simultaneously illustrate how Rome had reached its current straits

and emphasise the remedia to its troubles. Thus, the AUC is Livy’s response to the

political upheaval of the late Republic, his own way of doing his ‘manly part’ (praef.

3: pro uirile parte) to resist discordia;242 its conception, its narrative arc, and its

didactic aims are all coloured by contemporary political considerations. Livy’s history

therefore deserves to be taken more seriously as a political text than it often has

hitherto.

Conclusion

One person who has taken the political aims of the AUC seriously is Vasaly, whose

recent book Livy’s Political Philosophy: Power and Personality in Early Rome (2015)

amply demonstrates how fruitful a study of the AUC as a political text can be. Vasaly

shows that Livy’s first pentad, which serves as a preliminary archaeologia to his

history of Rome, is concerned with politics, and specifically the politics of the late

Republic:

In the first pentad, unlike in subsequent books, the problems for which

Livy envisioned his history as providing a remedium were not those of

the Augustan future but of the recent republican past[.]243

In the chapters that follow, it will be shown that the distinction Vasaly draws between

the political lessons of Livy’s first pentad those of his later books is more apparent

than real. Books 21-45 are just as concerned with the politics of the late Republic, and

with offering remedia to the discordia that characterised it. In these books Livy offers

his reader a vision of the res publica as it was at its height, which is to say as it should

be, and could be again if the lessons of the AUC were absorbed. As Chapters 2 and 3

explain, Books 21-45 reveal how the Romans’ ancestors maintained concordia and,

in general, succeeded in suppressing discordia. They therefore provide a model for

good government from Rome’s past that would solve the political problems of the

present, if only it were emulated. Livy’s vision of this stage in Roman history is

embellished, to be sure – from the analysis that follows it will be clear that the historian

242 Vasaly 2015: 122. 243 Vasaly 2015: 123; see 9-35 for the first pentad as archaeologia.

56

has himself suppressed instances of discordia on occasion, so as not to detract from

the overall impression of peaceful and effective government. But even so, as Chapter

4 will illustrate with two revealing case studies, these books do occasionally offer

hints at the political turmoil to come later.

57

Chapter 2

Creating concordia

Introduction

This chapter examines how concordia is achieved and maintained in the res publica

as Livy depicts it in Books 21-45. Responsibility for maintaining the political order

of the Roman state belonged primarily to its magistrates, and as such they are the

focus of much of this study. These office holders were drawn from a class of leading

citizens who constituted the political élite of Republican Rome, who collectively

formed the state’s senate, and to whom Livy often refers as principes ciuitatis, the

leading citizens of the state. Even when they did not hold a magistracy, individual

principes could influence public affairs, for better or for worse, so they too are

discussed alongside the magistrates. In this chapter and the next, the discussion of the

leadership of the res publica is divided into two parts, one focusing on high office

holders such as consuls, dictators, censors, and on the men who competed for these

offices (section 2.1 in this chapter), the other on the tribunes of the plebs. This

distinction reflects the unusual rôle played by the tribunate in Roman politics.

Traditionally, the tribunate of the plebs has been viewed as a particular source of

discordia, because of its disproportionate powers and competences and because of its

origins in the strife between the plebeians and patricians in the formative years of the

libera res publica. The tribunes’ rôle in the generally peaceful age that Livy describes

in Books 21-45 therefore merits special consideration (section 2.2). This chapter

reveals that the tribunate did in fact play a major part in creating and maintaining

concordia and effective government in this part of Livy’s history. The chapter also

considers the nature of political oratory in Livy, and discusses oratory’s rôle in

upholding the concordia that generally prevails in his third, fourth, and fifth decades.

2.1 Magistrates and leading citizens

Livy’s history instructs through exemplarity, and by far the most common exemplar

in his history are men who belong to the very pinnacle of Roman society, the political

58

élite that governs the city and its empire.244 This fact by itself reveals much about the

res publica envisaged by the AUC: this is a state in which the people most worthy of

consideration, most worth emulating, are – not coincidentally – its leaders. ‘Ordinary’

people do play a part in the political narrative every so often, more commonly in the

early books where characters from humble backgrounds often stand for, and even

speak for, the plebeian masses as they struggle for a place in the state that is worthy

of a free citizenry.245 In Books 21-45 such figures are very rare, which reflects the

high degree of concordia between leaders and masses in these books in comparison

to the earlier ones. When they do feature, however, they can be no less exemplary

than their élite counterparts. Two figures stand out from Livy’s later books: Hispala

Faecenia in the Bacchanalia Affair at 39.9-14, and Sp. Ligustinus in the controversy

over the re-enrolment of veteran centurions at 42.32.6-35.2. The freedwoman and

‘renowned whore’ Hispala proves the truth of Livy’s statement that she ‘did not

deserve’ her station in life by bravely revealing the Bacchanalian ‘conspiracy’,246 for

which she is rewarded with a vast sum of money and her autonomy, with the stain of

her past life formally removed (39.19.3-6). Ligustinus, one of the veteran primi pili

centurions who have resisted being enrolled at a lower rank, who admits to being so

poor that he own only one iugerum, becomes the person responsible for ending the

impasse between the consuls and the centurions when he gives a speech (42.34) in

which he urges his fellows to submit to the consuls and senate. Both of these humble

figures exemplify duty to patria, and for this quality both are no less worthy of

emulation than any of the great imperatores in the AUC. But both characters also

demonstrate another trait: humility before the consuls and the authority they embody.

Hispala is overcome with fear and awe in the presence of the consul Postumius and

his badges of office (39.12.2, 5);247 Ligustinus emphasises his subservience to his

superiors and calls on his fellow centurions to emulate him in bowing to the power of

the consuls and senate (42.34.13-15). Thus, these most virtuous of ‘ordinary’

characters, while exemplary in their own right, are additionally exemplary in that they

244 The exemplarity of magistracy, especially in Livy, is the subject of Haimson Lushkov’s (2015)

recent contribution to the study of exempla in Roman literature. Jaeger 1997, Feldherr 1998, and

Chaplin 2000 remain fundamental; see also Langlands 2011; Roller 2011; and relevant sections in

Vasaly 2015. On exemplarity in Roman culture more generally, see Hölkeskamp 2003; Roller 2004. 245 See Vasaly 2015: 110-12, and 96-121, 132-39 on the plebs/populus in the first pentad more

generally. 246 39.9.5: scortum nobile libertina Hispala Faecenia, non digna quaestu cui ancillula adsuerat… 247 On Hispala’s awe and terror in the face of magisterial auctoritas, see Haimson Lushkov 2015: 23-

4.

59

direct the reader’s attention back to its proper focus: the leading men of the state and

above all the magistrates.

This part of the chapter considers the proper rôle of a political leader in Books

21-45. Rather than analysing the whole range of magistrates and principes that

dominate Livy’s account of domestic affairs, it follows Livy’s own practice by

offering an exemplar who personifies the best characteristics of a Roman leader. The

figure who stands above the rest for his qualities and his practice of leadership is Q.

Fabius Maximus Verrucosus, whose responsibility for preserving his patria from

Hannibal in the dark, early days of the Second Punic War attests his worthiness as a

subject of study.

2.1.1 Fabius Maximus at home

Fabius Maximus was – and indeed still is – best known for the strategy he employed

against Hannibal and which earned him not only the eternal renown of saving his

country but the ‘title’ by which he is better known: cunctator, ‘the Delayer’.248 There

is no denying the importance of Fabius’ generalship in the first half of the third decade

of the AUC, nor that his generalship is one of the qualities that makes him such and

effective Roman leader, but Fabius’ rôle as a commander has often unfairly eclipsed

his rôle in domestic affairs. Yet here too he manifests the highest qualities of Roman

leadership.

After the Roman defeat at Lake Trasumennus, Livy’s narrative focuses on the

dictator Fabius and his efforts to restore order to the res publica. From the outset,

Livy depicts Fabius as ideally suited to this time of crisis. The dictator’s conduct at

home and in the field is directly opposed to that of the fallen consul C. Flaminius. 249

Flaminius had entered his second consulate, towards the end of Book 21, in what the

senators regard as a state of war with both the senate and the gods (21.63.6). Because

he believed his enemies would try to falsify the auspices and hinder him from taking

up his consulate, Flaminius secretly left the city without taking the customary vows

248 This title, and the renown associated with Fabius’ achievement, are famously encapsulated by a

fragment of Ennius’ Annales, 363-5 Sk. This fragment’s impact on Livy is considered below, at 2.3.1,

and again at 4.2.2. Its rôle in historiography is considered by Elliott 2009 and Roller 2011. 249 This is part of the antithesis between the perennially cautious Fabius and the ‘rash commanders’ of Books 21-2, the others being Ti. Sempronius Longus, M. Minucius, C. Varro: see Will 1983; Levene

2010: 170-2. The confrontation between Fabius and two of these, Minucius and Varro, is the topic of

Chapter 4.2. Flaminius is discussed in Chapter 3.1.3.

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or fulfilling his religious obligations (21.63.5-9). The senate voted to recall the

wayward consul, but he disregards the messengers sent to bring him back and enters

his consulate outside of Rome (21.63.11-15). The results of his impiety are made clear

at the Battle of Lake Trasummenus.250

When Fabius returns to Rome from Umbria on receiving word that he has

been made dictator, he immediately convenes the senate (22.9.7). Despite the

disastrous state of Rome’s armies, the dictator’s first order of business is to put the

state’s religious affairs in order. He convinces the senate that Flaminius’ greater fault

was his neglect of the rites and auspices, rather than his temeritas or his ignorance.251

He suggests that the Sibylline books be consulted for the best way to propitiate the

gods and restore Rome’s relationship with them (22.9.8). The measures taken in

response to this are described in meticulous detail at 22.9.7-10.10, and this detail

conveys the care taken by the Romans to attend to their state’s religious needs,

following the advice of Fabius.

It is only after the supplications and propitiations have been performed that

the dictator turns to war and public affairs (22.11.1: ita rebus diuinis peractis, tum de

bello deque re publica dictator…). As before, Livy describes Fabius as calling on the

senate to decide these matters, referring the question of the enrolment of new legions

to face the Carthaginians: ‘concerning the war and public business, the dictator

referred it, so that the fathers should decide by what legions and by how many the

victorious enemy should be opposed’ (22.11.1: de bello deque re publica dictator

rettulit, quibus quotue legionibus uictori hosti obuiam eundum esse patres censerent).

After the recruitment of new troops, the dictator proceeds with other preparations for

facing Hannibal (22.11.2-5).

The antithesis between Fabius and the dead consul Flaminius is profound.

Fabius prioritises the gods where Flaminius neglects them; Fabius works with the

senate while Flaminius works against them. The priority the dictator gives to this

matters reflects his accurate understanding of the cosmic order on which Rome’s

prosperity rests: first pax deorum, without which Rome cannot prosper, certainly not

in war, and then concordia, without which Rome cannot govern itself. 252 The

250 On Flaminius’ impiety as the cause of the Roman defeat, see Bruckmann 1936: 65-70; Levene 1993:

38-42. 251 22.9.7: ab dis orsus, cum edocuisset patres plus neglegentia caerimonium auspiciorum<que quam>

temeritate atque inscitia peccatum a C. Flaminio consule esse[.] 252 On pax deorum and Roman explanations of military defeat, see Rosenstein 1990.

61

dictator’s dealings with the senate exemplify consultatio and consilium, the business

of consulting/counselling the senate that was one of the main duties of a consul. To

the Roman mind, the etymological link between consultatio and consul reflected the

proper relationship between the senate (and people) and the paramount magistrates;

as Varro (Ling. 5.80) puts it, a consul is someone qui consuleret populum et senatum,

‘who would consult the people and senate’.253 A dictator, on the other hand, was

under no obligation to do anything of the sort, for as the title implies a dictator need

only speak his will for it to be done. Fabius, however, maintains a more equal

relationship with the senate despite the prerogatives of his office. Indeed, the

combination of authoritative advice with his use of persuasion and deferential

requests to guide the senate reveals, and, for Livy’s audience, reinforces the proper

way in which a magistrate ought to deal with the senate.

Fabius’ strategy of cunctatio makes the war more even, until the election of

C. Terentius Varro to the consulate. This man’s aggression leads the Romans to

another disastrous defeat.254 When rumours of the Battle of Cannae reaches Rome

they provoke such despair and panic that Livy confesses himself unequal to relating

it (22.54.8, cf. 7, 9-11). But once again the leadership of Q. Fabius rescues Rome from

the brink of chaos. This time, he acts without holding public office: he simply

counsels the senate to send out riders to gather accurate information about the

enemy’s position and intentions (22.55.4-5) – thereby addressing the military

situation – and then suggests that the senators themselves quell the tumultus ac

trepidatio afflicting the city (22.55.6-8) – thereby addressing the domestic situation.

Characteristically, his wisdom persuades the entire senate, which votes unanimously

to enact his advice (22.56.1). Here again Fabius demonstrates the proper rôle of a

leading citizen in relation to the senate: he offers authoritative and wise advice, and

uses persuasion to guide his fellow patres towards the best course of action.

Fabius is not a perfect leader. In the middle chapters of Book 22, as Chapter

4.2 of this thesis will show, he utterly fails to prevent his policy of cunctatio from

losing the support of the public, and thus paves the way for the Roman defeat at

Cannae. On a later occasion Fabius effectively usurps an election over which he

himself, as a consul, is presiding (24.7.12-9.3), refusing to allow the two candidates

253 On consuls and consilium/consultatio, see Haimson Lushkov 2015: 64-5. 254 The campaign to undermine the Fabian strategy and its consequences is the focus of Chapter 4.2.

62

chosen by the centuria praerogatiua to be elected consuls and even using his lictors

to silence one of them when he protests (24.9.1). One suspects that, had this been done

by any other character, Livy would at least have suggested that libertas populi had

been usurped. To Fabius, however, he allocates a lengthy speech in which Rome’s

saviour justifies his retention of the consulate as a necessity of war, after specifically

disclaiming any attempt against libertas (24.8). This smacks of special pleading by

the historian, but it only serves to underline the point made in this section.255 Fabius

Maximus is the foremost of the principes in Books 21-45, whose talents as a soldier

and general are matched by his conduct at home. He serves as an exemplar of the

pietas and consilium, treating with the senate with in a way that ensures that his

wisdom is followed without in any way debasing himself by forcing the patres to

obey him. His respectful attitude sustains the utmost concordia between himself and

the senate, to the benefit of the res publica.

2.2 Tribunes of the plebs

The AUC has had a profound influence on subsequent perceptions of the course of

Roman political history. Perhaps in no area is this influence more apparent than in

modern reconstructions of the history of the tribunate of the plebs. In the traditional

periodisation of the Roman Republic, the initial (509-287 or 367) and final eras (133-

49 or 43 or 31), characterised by political and social conflict, correspond to periods

of contentious and disruptive tribunician activity; the intermediate period (367 or 287-

134), on the other hand, is distinguished in part by the more peaceful rôle that the

tribunes played in affairs.256 In this ‘Era of Quiescence’, as Brunt memorably called

it,257 it is supposed that most tribunes were content to serve the interests of the

senatorial aristocracy (of which many were now part); only rarely did a tribune use

his powers to disrupt the political order, and none succeeded in provoking upheaval

255 Cf. Livy’s variation on the anecdote in which Fabius was ordered to dismount by his son, the consul

of 213, in recognition of the proper respect owed even by a father to the magistracy. In Claudius

Quadrigarius’ earlier version (Gell. NA 2.2.13 = FRH 24 F57), Fabius simply obeyed and praised his

son’s sense of decorum. In the AUC, however, Livy specifically absolves the father of any wrongdoing

by failing to dismount, having him declare that he was testing his son (22.44.9-10). On the variants in this tradition, see Haimson Lushkov 2015: 38-45. 256 See Taylor 1962: 19, for the correspondence between this periodisation and tribunician activity. 257 Brunt 1971a: 60-73

63

comparable to the tribunician disturbances of the early and late Republic.258 The idea

of the docile tribunate of the middle Republic has not gone unchallenged: Lily Ross

Taylor suggested long ago that the rebirth of the politically radical tribunate with the

Gracchi was anticipated by a series forerunners in the preceding decades.259 Some

subsequent treatments, while recognising the assimilation of the tribunate into the

oligarchic system of the middle Republic, have stressed that, far from being passive

tools of the political élite, the tribunes were actively involved in maintaining the

élite’s rule, conferring popular legitimacy on their decisions through their legislative

powers and regulating their internal contests with their powers to prosecute and

defend élite citizens and block contentious bills.260 Recently, Peter Williams has

argued that the tribunate also continued to perform what he identifies as its ‘primary

function – to act in the best interests of the People’ more often than is usually

recognised. 261 These contributions add nuance to the traditional account of the

tribunate – Williams in particular stresses that tribunician activity need not be overtly

opposed to the nobility or the senate to be understood as upholding popular interests

– but they do not undermine the overall narrative of the office as one that was radical,

even revolutionary, in origin, became normalised in the course of the third and second

centuries, before rediscovering its radical potential with the Gracchi.

Unsurprisingly, this narrative of the tribunate’s evolution, necessarily

dependent on Livy as the most detailed source for the middle Republic, reflects the

changing rôle of the tribunate in his surviving books. In Livy’s early books, the

tribunes as leading figures on the plebeian side of the ‘Struggle of the Orders’ are a

frequent source of political and social upheaval.262 In the third, fourth, and fifth

decades, tribunes play a more varied rôle in politics, and only rarely are they depicted

258 This is essentially the thesis of Bleicken’s 1955 study of the tribunate in its ‘classical’ period, 287-

133 B.C.; the idea was not novel, however, and its wide currency is evident from the frequency with

which it features in general treatments of Republican politics, e.g. Taylor 1899: 176, 216, 235;

Mommsen 1920: 312-14; Cary 1935: 116-7; Scullard 1961: 104, 322-3; 1982: 7, 25; Brunt 1971a: 64-

7; Meier 1980: 117-28; cf. specific treatments of the tribunate, e.g. Brunt 1966: 7-8; Hölkeskamp 1990;

Badian 1990: 458. 259 Taylor 1962; accepted by e.g. Brunt 1971a: 65-6; Meier 1980: 128-9; Crawford 1992: 94-5; Lintott

1999: 208. 260 Feig Vishnia 1996: 201-3; Lintott 1999: 206-7; these functions were recognised by Mommsen 1920:

313. 261 Williams 2004: 282 and passim. 262 Tribunes are especially prominent as the causes of discordia in Livy’s account of the nascent libera

res publica in Books 2-5, which begins with an ominous reference to the seemingly innate propensity

of the plebs ‘to be stirred up by tribunician tempests’ (2.1.4: agitari…tribuniciis procellis): see Vasaly

2015: 96-7, 134-5.

64

in an overtly negative light. But while the traditional take on the history of the

tribunate accords with the overall impression given by Livy, it is also true, as Williams

stresses, that the ancient account of the mid-Republican tribunate is more varied than

many modern histories admit. Taken together, however, these traditional and

‘revisionist’ perspectives on the history of the tribunate do do justice to their Livian

source material.

What modern historians rarely acknowledge is that the AUC may not

necessarily reflect Roman history, or even Roman historical tradition as such, so much

as Livy’s efforts to craft a compelling and coherent narrative from the material that

was available to him. Ernst Badian is a rare exception, recognising that the apparent

change in the tribunate’s character from the early to the middle Republic reflects

Livy’s uneven treatment of the office.263 Badian attributes this unevenness to the

Patavine’s tendency to focus on serious conflicts and crises in his account of domestic

affairs. Whereas the tribunate of early Republic, as both a subject and a source of

serious contention, supplied a lot of interesting material for Livy’s narrative, ‘There

was nothing so exciting in tribunician history in the Middle Republic’.264 Hence, in

Badian’s view, Livy’s treatment of the tribunate in his later decades is characterised

a general ‘lack of interest’, in both the tribunate’s everyday functions and in the

conflicts in which tribunes were involved.265 But this explanation of Livy’s handling

of the tribunate feels insufficient, especially as the historian does in fact treat

tribunician controversies in some detail in his third, fourth, and fifth decades. These

books still display an interest in the tribunate and its rôle in the res publica, as the

following discussions will show. An alternative explanation is therefore needed to

account for the differences between Livy’s depiction of the tribunate in his earlier and

in his later books, and one has been offered by another historian who is conscious of

Livy’s impact on modern perceptions of the middle Republic. As the Introduction

mentioned, Mouritsen argues that the AUC consistently downplays the political

conflicts of the middle Republic in order to present the period as one of unmatched

concordia. 266 The analysis that follows demonstrates that this is true of Livy’s

depiction of the tribunate, too. The contrast between the early and the later tribunate

263 Badian 1996: 187. 264 Badian 1996: 187. 265 Badian 1996: 187-190. 266 Mouritsen 2017: 108-10.

65

in the AUC is deliberate, designed to illustrate how the institution could function in a

unified and morally-upright res publica, despite its origins in plebeio-patrician

discord. 267 Livy’s account of the mid-Republican tribunate is therefore not a

disinterested distillation of Roman historical tradition, as historians have tended to

assume. Instead, it is carefully contrived to present the tribunate in a largely positive

light, intentionally underemphasising – but never completely effacing – its capacity

to generate political conflict.

Although generally more positive than in his account of the early Republic,

Livy’s portrayal of tribunes in Books 21-45 is by no means uniform (any more than

his depiction of them in the first decade, as Vasaly has shown). For the most part, the

tribunate functions as a regular organ of state, exercising its legislative and legal

powers at the behest of and in deference to the senate. Nevertheless, the problematic

nature of the tribunate as a magistracy with wide-ranging and almost unrestrained

powers is never entirely forgotten, as individual tribunes periodically provoke

discordia by exercising their powers against the will of the senate. In most of these

cases, concordia is swiftly restored along with the supremacy of the senate’s

auctoritas, but on a few portentous occasions the tribunate’s extraordinary powers

provoke crises that prove more difficult to resolve. Overall, however, Livy presents

the tribunate as a magistracy that served the interests of the res publica in the years

covered by Books 21-45, in spite of the office’s seditious origins and its seemingly

inherent propensity, never far from sight even in these books, for abuse by self-

serving and reckless men.

2.2.1 The functions of the tribunate

The abuse of tribunician powers will be discussed at length in the next two chapters.

The rest of this section offers an overview of the regular functions of the tribunate in

Books 21-45. Characteristically, the historian does not offer the kind of institutional

overview of the tribunate that is provided by Cicero in the De legibus (3.19-26), so

267 It is worth noting too that the difference in the way the tribunate comes across in the earlier and the

later books is due in part to the change in the pace of Livy’s narrative. Books 21-45 relate half a century

of Roman history, whereas Books 2-10 cover more than two centuries in less than half the space.

Inevitably, tribunician controversies loom larger in Livy’s succinct account of the early Republic,

especially since those controversies are concentrated in Books 2-6, than they do in his later books,

among which they are much more widely dispersed.

66

any understanding of the general characteristics of the magistracy must be distilled

from the narrative as a whole.

The tribunes of the plebs performed a range of functions in the Republic.

Historically, the most important of these functions was to create laws. Before the

domestication of the consulate in the first century, which saw consuls spend most of

their time at home instead of campaigning abroad as their predecessors had done,

legislation was monopolised by the tribunes, who appear to have been responsible for

most of the laws passed in the third and second centuries.268 Tribunes also played a

prominent part in judicial proceedings. In the middle Republic, before the

establishment of permanent quaestiones, these typically consisted of a series of public

hearings in the form of contiones called by tribunes for the purpose of making

accusations; these hearings might by followed by a formal trial, again conducted in

public, if the prosecution’s case was sufficiently strong. The tribunes of course

retained the ius auxilii, their ancient right to aid any citizen who exercised his right of

prouocatio and appealed for help against a magistrate, so tribunes served as advocates

for defendants as well as acting as prosecutors. The tribunes’ auxilium could be

invoked in other situations, too, and it often drew them into disputes within the senate

or between magistrates. As a consequence of this and of the equally important ius

intercessionis – the power to veto legislation, tribunician decrees, senatorial

resolutions, even the election of magistrates – the tribunate performed an important

regulatory function in Roman politics, with tribunes often acting as the guardians of

mos maiorum and the arbitrators of the political élite’s contests over prestige and

power.

Livy’s narrative reflects the tribunate’s historical functions. In Books 21-45,

tribunes of the plebs are mentioned most frequently in the context of legislation. Livy

describes several tribunes’ rogationes in detail, usually because they arouse

controversy.269 But for the most part he is content merely to note, often in a single

268 Taylor 1966: 60; Lintott 1987: 41; Sandberg 1993: 89-92; 2000: 135 and passim; cf. Williamson

2005: 16-17. It must be admitted that the record of mid-Republican legislation is by no means complete

(Sandberg 2000: 123-4; Meyer 2005; Stevenson 2007: 170; contra Williamson 2005: esp. 6-16, whose

analysis of Roman law-making seems to rest on the assumption that the record is largely complete),

but the impression given by what is likely only a fraction of the laws passed in the third and second centuries probably reflects the overall proportion of plebiscita sensu stricto and non-tribunician leges. 269 Detailed accounts of rogationes: 22.25.10-26.5; 27.20.11-21.4; 34.1.1-8.3; 38.54.2-12; 45.35.4-

39.20.

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sentence, that a tribune or tribunes passed a law,270 or that the tribunes were asked by

the senate to put a bill to the concilium plebis on their behalf.271 Tribunes appear

almost as often when exercising their right of intercessio, intervening in a range of

political matters, from rogationes, to elections, to decrees of their fellow tribunes or

of other magistrates or the senate.272 Together, rogationes and intercessiones account

for over half of the appearances of tribunes in Books 21-45. Tribunes also feature in

judicial contexts, 273 or when a citizen appeals for their help, 274 but while both

situations are fairly common they are far less so than either rogationes or

intercessiones. It is comparatively rare for tribunes to appear in situations other than

these, although Livy does show them performing a range of other functions.275 Thus,

rogationes, intercessiones, judicial proceedings, and responding to appeals make up

the most visible activities of the tribunes in the AUC, just as they seem to have done

in at least the late Republic.

The tribunate performs the same range of functions in Livy’s later books as it

does in his account of the early Republic. But while its functions are the same, its rôle

in public affairs is markedly different. In the earlier books, particularly in Books 2-6,

270 21.63.3-4; 23.21.6; 32.29.3-4; 33.25.7; 33.42.1; 38.36.7-9; 40.44.1; 41.6.2-3; 42.19.1-2; 42.22.3;

43.16.6-8. 271 25.5.8; 26.2.5-6; 26.21.5; 27.5.7; 30.27.3-4; 30.41.4; 34.53.1; 35.7.4-5; Livy dedicates slightly more

space to bills that arise out of irregular or contentious circumstances: 26.33.10-14; 27.5.16-17;

30.40.14-16 (enacted at 30.43.2-3); 31.50.8-11 (two rogationes). At 29.16.6 a rogatio is proposed in

the senate but not passed. 272 Tribunician intercessiones against rogationes: 34.1.4 and 34.8.2; 38.54.5, 11; 41.6.3; 45.21.3-8;

during elections: 25.2.6-7; 27.6.2-5; 32.7.8-10; against decrees of tribunes: 38.52.9-11; against other

magistrates: 30.40.9-10; 32.28.3-8; 33.32.1-2; 38.60.4-7; 43.16.5; in senatorial discussions: 31.20.5-6; 33.25.6; 35.8.9; 36.39.6-10; 38.47.5; 39.4.3-4; 39.38.9-10; 45.15.9; at 32.7.4 P. Porcius Laeca forbade

L. Manlius Acidinus entering the city in an ouatio, despite a senatorial decree granting him the right

to do so. Some intercessiones take place in judicial contexts (hence there is some overlap with the

cases listed here and in the following footnote): 24.43.3; 38.52.9-11; 38.60.4-7. 273 24.43.2-3; 25.3.13-19; 26.2.7-3.9; 29.22.7; 29.37.17; 37.57.12, 58.1; 38.50.5-53.7; 38.56.2, 6-13;

38.60.3-7; 41.7.5-10; 43.8.2-3, 9-10; 43.16.9-16. 274 26.3.8; 27.8.3; 27.8.8-10; 28.45.5-7; 33.42.4; 34.56.9; 36.3.5; 37.51.4; 38.52.8; 38.58.3, with

38.60.3-7; 40.29.12; 42.32.7-8. 275 The tribunes’ ability to hold contiones gave them the right to speak in public whenever they chose.

Thus they often serve as orators in the AUC, even outside of the four main contexts in which they

appear (which themselves often called for speeches), e.g. holding contiones in support of a candidate

for the consulate (22.34.3-11, on which see Chapter 4.2.2); speaking against a consular rogatio to

declare war (31.6.3-6); attacking a general’s conduct abroad (43.4.6). Tribunes could also summon

people to speak at their contiones, as M. Antonius does when he calls on L. Aemilius Paulus to present

an account of his exploits (45.40.9); this also allowed tribunes to preside over public debates, such as

that over Paulus’ triumph (45.36.2, 3). Tribunes of the plebs also initiate a motion in the senate

(22.61.7), serve on the board of the tresuiri mensarii (23.21.6) and on the legation sent to investigate and if necessary arrest P. Scipio (29.20.4-11), receive, along with the praetor urbanus, Hispala

Faecenia’s petition for a tutor (39.9.7), issue a proclamation threatening the consuls with a fine

(42.21.4), and investigate the conduct of a levy (42.33.1-2).

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the tribunes’ powers are an almost constant source of discordia. 276 Tribunician

attempts to legislate frequently provoke strife with the patres, and although patrician

resistance to these rogationes is not always presented as just or fair, the bills and their

sponsors tend to be cast in a negative light regardless of the justice of their cause.

Livy repeatedly portrays tribunician legislators as unpatriotic, opportunistic, and

motivated by ambition and self-interest.277 As for the laws themselves, the historian

naturally treats agrarian laws, which Livy calls the ‘poison’ of the tribunes (2.52.2:

suo ueneno, agraria lege), as a perennial source of discordia.278 But even when the

laws proposed are constructive and contribute to the development of the mature and

stable res publica described later in the AUC, tribunes’ attempts to legislate tend to

generate discord. The Licinio-Sextian rogationes provide a striking case in point. The

laws passed by the tribunes do much to ease plebeio-patrician tensions in the long

term, in particular the admission of plebeians to the consulate, which marks the birth

of the mixed aristocracy that will lead Rome to greatness in the years to come. But

the contests over the passage of these laws all but paralyses the Roman state for

years.279 The tribunes’ ability to mount prosecutions is, if anything, depicted in a

worse light than their legislative powers. Livy represents tribunician prosecutions as

vindictive, unjust, and often harmful to the res publica.280 Serious harm is done to

Rome by the two most famous prosecutions in the early books, those of Coriolanus

(2.35.2-6) and Camillus (5.32.7-9), in the first case by making an enemy of a brave

and cunning soldier, in the second by depriving the Romans of the one man who could

have saved them from the Gallic onslaught that soon follows. Of the tribunes’

activities in the early books, only the provision of auxilium is presented in a largely

276 Vasaly 2015: 96; cf. 113-16. 277 Vasaly 2015: 114; Ridley 1990: 121-2, 126. 278 2.42.6; 2.43.3-4; 2.44.1-6; 2.52.3; 2.54.2; 2.61.1-2; 3.1; 4.43.6; 4.48.3-12; 4.52.2-4; 6.5.1-5; 6.6.1;

see Ridley 1990: 111-12; Kaplow 2012: 103; Vasaly 2015: 100-1; 113-14. Livy reveals his attitude to

agrarian laws in a comment on the first of them, in which he claims that ‘never afterwards, even up to

times within living memory, were such matters brought up without the greatest upheavals’ (2.41.3:

numquam deinde usque ad hanc memoriam sine maximis motibus rerum agitata); cf. Livy’s description

of agrarian laws at 6.11.8: materia semper tribunis plebi seditionum fuisset (‘it was ever the stuff of

seditiones for the tribunes of the plebs’). This first lex agraria, which not only provokes discord but is

treated as an attempt at overthrowing the state, is actually proposed by the patrician consul Sp. Cassius

(2.41). However, as Vasaly 2015: 113-14 points out, it is the first tribunician land redistribution bill,

at 2.43.3-4, that sets the pattern for subsequent leges agrariae and ‘plants in the mind of the reader an

association between agrarian laws and the office of tribune’. 279 6.34-42, esp. 6.35.10 and 6.36.1-37.12on the five-year ‘anarchy’ and its effects; for overview and

commentray see Kraus 1994: 268-332; Oakley 1997: 645-61, esp. 647, 650-1 on the ‘anarchy’. 280 See the list of examples discussed by Ridley 1990: 123-6.

69

positive light. On reflection, this is unsurprising. The ability to appeal for help against

a magistrate is an essential aspect of the libertas of the Roman people, and it is this,

above all, that justifies the existence of the tribunate in the AUC. Livy depicts it as

the reason for the establishment of the tribunate in the first place: ‘so that there would

be sacrosanct magistrates of the plebs’ very own, who had the right to provide aid

against the consuls’ (2.33.1: ut plebi sui magistratus essent sacrosancti, quibus auxilii

latio aduersus consules esset). Later, it is at the heart of the patricians’ offer to restore

the tribunate after the tyranny of the decemvirs.281 By highlighting auxilium in his

accounts of the tribunate’s establishment and re-establishment, Livy presents it as

integral to the magistracy and almost synonymous with it. It is little wonder that, of

all the tribunes’ functions, the provision of auxilium, as the guarantee of the people’s

libertas, itself essential to Rome’s status as a libera res publica, is treated positively,

especially in light of the genuine injustice to which the plebeians are often subjected

in the early books.282 And the plebeians are not the only beneficiaries, for the patres

are quick to understand auxilium’s potential to help them, and the state as a whole, in

the face of tribunician threats and tumults.283 By comparison, the other activities of

the tribunes occupy a far more pernicious place in the Livy’s account of Rome’s early

history. Yet, those same activities rarely provoke discordia in Books 21-45. With a

few notable exceptions that will be discussed in later chapters, most tribunician

activity is carried out without controversy and without inviting authorial comment.

2.2.2 The tribunes’ contribution to concordia

There is therefore a pronounced change in the tribunes’ rôle as Livy’s narrative

progresses, and the reason for this change is clear enough. Throughout these later

281 3.45.8; 3.48.9; 3.53.4, 6; 3.55.6. 282 The positive attitude towards auxilium expressed by Livy appears to have been shared by all

Romans. Even Sulla is said to have left the tribunate its ius auxilii after limiting its other powers, as

the character of Quintus, inveterately opposed to every other facet of tribunicia potestas, notes with

approval in Cic. Leg. 3.22. 283 N.B. 4.48.13-14: in eius potestatis [sc. tribunicii auxilii] fidem circumuentam rem publicam,

tamquam priuatum inopem, confugere; praeclarum ipsis potestatique esse non ad uexandum senatum

discordiamque ordinum mouendam plus in tribunatu uirium esse quam ad resistendum improbis

collegis (‘the besieged state, just like a helpless private citizen, was taking refuge in the steadfastness

of this potestas; it was splendid for the men themselves and for their potestas that there was not greater

power in the tribunate for harassing the senate and arousing discord among the orders than for resisting

their wicked colleagues.’) These words are attributed to the senators discussing what the primores

patrum consider their only hope of obstructing a lex agraria proposed by the tribunes Sp. Maecilius

and M. Metilius; the senators hope that by appealing to the tribunes some of their number will use their

intercessio to obstruct the rogatio (4.48).

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books, Livy depicts the tribunes as working in concert with the senate. The senate

repeatedly turns to the tribunes to enact its resolutions. Regarding the Locrian affair,

for example, the senate resolves to ask two tribunes of the plebs to accompany the

legation it is sending to investigate P. Scipio’s conduct, so that they can arrest him by

virtue of their sacrosanctity (ac iure sacrosanctae potestatis reducerent) if necessary

(29.20.4-11). Later, upon deciding that the books discovered by L. Petillius should be

burned, the senate puts the matter of compensation in the hands of the praetor urbanus

and a majority of the tribunes (40.29.13). The most frequent service the tribunes

perform for the senate, however, is legislating on its behalf. Livy’s descriptions of

legislation are usually brief and he sometimes omits any reference to tribunes’

involvement in plebiscita, 284 even though these plebiscita can hardly have been

passed without at least one tribune’s involvement as the rogator who presented the

bill to the concilium plebis.285 Of the bills in Books 21-45 in which tribunes are

explicitly mentioned as rogatores, half are brought before the people senatus

consulto.286 Admittedly, it is not always clear whether a bill has been drafted by the

senate and then passed on to the tribunes to enact, or whether a tribune has simply

received senatorial approval for a bill that he drafted; Livy’s language occasionally

obscures these matters (perhaps deliberately; see the discussion below). 287 But in

most instances it is quite clear that the bill in question originates in the senate, and

that the tribunes are simply enacting its resolutions. Livy’s descriptions of the process

284 25.7.5; 35.20.9; 35.40.5. 285 See Badian 1996: 187-9. 286 25.5.8; 26.2.5-6; 26.21.5; 26.33.11-14; 27.5.7; 30.27.3-4; 30.40.14-16 (enacted at 30.43.2-3);

30.41.4; 31.50.8-11 (two separate rogationes resulting from the same senatus consultum); 34.53.1;

35.7.4-5; 42.21.4-5; 45.35.4. To these may be added the plebiscita passed ex senatus consulto that Livy

references without mentioning the tribunes who must have brought the bills to the concilium plebis: 25.7.5; 35.20.9; 35.40.5. 287 Only two tribunician rogationes are explicitly described as not having been authorised by the senate:

Q. Claudius’ bill to restrict the capacity of ships owned by senators (21.63.3-4), and C. Valerius

Tappo’s bill to enfranchise the cities of Formiae, Fundi, and Arpinum (38.36.7-8). A third, on whether

to declare peace with Philip V, was brought to the plebs in response to uncertainty in the senate

(33.25.6-7), and so apparently also lacked its authorisation. Most of the rogationes that are not

described as having the senate’s backing are contentious or divisive in some way, and as such it may

be assumed that Livy omits to mention senatorial approval because they did not receive it: 22.25.10-

26.5; 27.20.11-21.4; 34.1.1-8.3; 38.54.2-12; 41.6.2-3; 42.22.3; 43.16.6-8. A few, however, are

seemingly uncontroversial, and may have received the prior approval of the senate without the historian

noting it: the bill creating a board to deal with a shortage of cash (23.21.6); a bill to establish colonies

(32.29.3-4); the law for the election of tresuiri epulones (33.42.1); L. Villius’ law setting minimum

ages for magistracies (40.44.1); a bill requiring the censors to issue leases for holdings in the ager

Campanus (42.19.1-2), on which see Badian 1996: 188-9, who likewise considers it likely to have been

promulgated ex senatus consulto.

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are highly uniform, employing a set of interchangeable terms within a flexible

formula, as the following examples demonstrate.

omniumque in unum sententiae congruebant agendum cum tribunis

plebis esse…ad plebem ferrent… (26.2.5)

consules iussi cum tribunis plebis agere ut, si iis uideretur, populum

rogarent… (30.27.3)

patres…censuerunt (30.40.12)…uti consules cum tribunis agerent ut, si

iis uideretur, plebem rogarent… (30.41.4)

mandatumque Q. Cassio praetori cum tribunis plebis ageret ex

auctoritate patrum rogationem ad plebem ferrent… (45.35.4)

Each of these cases, along with the other instances spread throughout Books 21-45,

combines elements of the same basic formula, which can be expressed thus: (1) the

senate decrees or resolves that (2) arrangements should be made (often by consuls or

praetors) with the tribunes, (3) if it seems right to them, (4) to bring a rogatio before

the plebs/populus.288 Whether or not these constructions, with their official sounding

vocabulary, ultimately derive from authentic records of these plebiscita, they give the

impression of regularity and order, of a well-established system in which the

tribunate’s rôle is to turn senatus consulta into law. The remaining instances of bills

promulgated ex auctoritate senatus/patrum do little to undermine this impression. In

four cases it is clear that the rogationes originated in the senate because, although

Livy does not explicitly state that the senate asked the tribunes to submit these bills

to the people, each of them immediately follows an account of a senatorial discussion

of the subjects to which it pertains.289 Q. Aelius Tubero’s proposal to establish two

Latin colonies does not, but since it is described as being brought ex senatus consulto

it too may be regarded as the product of a senatorial discussion and resolution

(34.53.1). There is only a single exception, in which the tribunes, and not the senate,

are explicitly presented as the authors of a bill, which they then present to the patres

for their approval (35.7.4-5). But this bill, the rogatio Marcia concerning the Ligurian

288 Cf. 25.5.8: tribuni plebis, si iis uideretur, ad populum ferrent… (senatus introduced earlier, at

25.5.6, in connection with a different resolution); 27.5.16: ita decreuit senatus ut…tribuni ad plebem

ferrent; 29.19.6: agique cum tribunis plebis ut…ferrent ad populum (the sententia of Q. Fabius

Maximus, not enacted); 30.40.12, 14: patres…censuerunt uti…tribuni plebis populum rogarent…

31.50.8: senatus decreuit ut…consules, si iis uideretur, cum tribunis plebis agerent uti ad plebem

ferrent (N.B. in this instance si iis uideretur refers to the consuls, not the tribunes as at 25.5.8, 30.27.3,

and 30.41.4). 289 26.21.5; 26.33.12; 27.5.7; 35.7.4-5.

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Statellae, is the result of exceptional circumstances, in which the consuls are

obstructing any senatorial decree on the matter. The tribunes who sponsor the bill

cannot do so in response to a formal request, but they are nevertheless prompted by

the sententiae of the senators (42.21.4: hoc consensu patrum accensi; for further

discussion, see below). So, whereas in Livy’s first decade the tribunes are frequently

at odds with the patres, in his later books the tribunes often work for the senate –

hence the relative scarcity of conflicts arising out of tribunician activity.

Of course, this all fits in well with traditional views of middle Republican

politics. The tribunes’ cooperation with the senate has been regarded as evidence that

the tribunate served the interests of the nobiles during this phase of Roman history.

This situation is supposed to have been anticipated by the description of the tribunes

as mancipia nobilium in the tenth book of the AUC. Brunt, for example, referring to

the tribunes of the middle Republic, writes that ‘Livy (X, 37) called them “chattels of

the nobility” in an earlier time, an anachronism that had now come true.’290 The term

‘chattels of the nobility’, mancipia nobilium, has been the axis on which many

discussions of the mid-Republican tribunate have turned. 291 Whether it is cited

approvingly or not, it is rarely recognised that the description is not actually one that

Livy applies to the tribunate in his own voice.292 Instead, he attributes the words to

the consul L. Postumius Megellus, at a contio in which Postumius attempts to justify

his refusal to submit a request for a triumph to the concilium plebis by implying that

any such request would be vetoed by tribunes in the service of his opponents among

the nobiles.293 The words cannot be taken as a reflection of Livy’s own view of the

tribunate (indeed, given their rhetorical context, they should not even be taken as an

unprejudiced explanation for the tribunes’ opposition to Postumius’ triumph).

And in fact the tribunes are not generally portrayed as mancipia nobilium in

Books 21-45. However little the distinction between the senate and the nobilitas that

dominated it mattered in reality, in the AUC the distinction is important and

290 Brunt 1971a: 67. 291 E.g. Brunt 1966: 7-8; Walbank 1970: 691-2; Hölkeskamp 1990: 452. 292 A rare exception is Badian 1990: 459, noting that ‘it cannot be a general statement about all

tribunes’. Hölkeskamp 1987: 156 n. 115 is at least sceptical about the source and hence the accuracy

of the quote. 293 10.37.6-12; the notorious clause is 10.37.11: adiciebat se quoque laturum fuisse ad populum, ni sciret mancipia nobilium, tribunos plebis, legem impedituros[.] Badian 1990: 459 calls this ‘one of

Livy’s sedate little ironies’ since it turns out that the patrician Postumius himself ‘owns’ three of the

ten tribunes.

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pronounced, especially in regard to the activity of tribunes. Livy rarely presents

tribunes as working for nobiles in Books 21-45, and when he does he depicts both the

tribunes and the nobiles they serve unfavourably. In his account of the hotly contested

censorial elections of 189 (37.57.9-58.2), Livy indicates that the tribunes P.

Sempronius Gracchus and C. Sempronius Rutilus brought a charge of embezzlement

against M’. Acilius Glabrio in response to the widespread indignation that this new

man’s candidacy aroused among the nobiles.294 The impression that the tribunes are

motivated by a desire to curry favour with the nobiles rather than an interest in justice

is reinforced when they drop their prosecution at the third hearing ‘since the accused

had abandoned his election campaign’ (37.58.1: cum de petitione destitisset reus).

None of the characters in this episode comes out of it unblemished: Glabrio, the

tribunes, the nobiles, and even the venerable Cato are corrupted by their self-interest

and ambitio. But the tribunes, by opportunistically using their position to serve the

envious nobiles by bringing Glabrio to trial, are responsible for turning the election

into a major contentio that reflects badly on all involved. Another unfortunate

collaboration between a tribune and a self-serving nobilis, which will be discussed at

length below, is that of the tribune M. Aburius and the consul M. Aemilius Lepidus

(39.4.1-5.6). On the latter’s orders the tribune vetoes a senatorial decree granting a

triumph to Lepidus’ enemy, M. Fulvius Nobilior. This provokes a debate in which

Aburius is admonished by the senators and by his colleague Ti. Sempronius Gracchus

for using the tribunate’s powers to further a private quarrel. The episode

unambiguously characterises Aburius’ efforts on behalf of a nobilis as an abuse of the

tribunate. Significantly, Gracchus makes no reference to the relative merits of

Nobilior or Lepidus in his speech to Aburius: he reprimands his colleague not for the

side he has chosen in these nobiles’ feud, but for using his position to participate in

their feud in the first place, characterising it as a betrayal of the founding principles

of the tribunate. So not only is it rare in the AUC for tribunes to act as servants to the

nobiles, but on those rare occasions when they do it is also harmful to the res publica

on both a practical and an ethical level. In practical terms it provokes discordia,

disrupting public affairs to varying degrees, while in ethical terms it represents a

294 37.57.12: id cum aegre paterentur tot nobiles, nouum sibi hominem tantum praeferri, P. Sempronius

Gracchus et C. Sempronius Rutilus, <tribuni plebis,> ei diem dixerunt… (‘Since so many nobiles took

offence that a new man should be so far preferred to themselves, P. Sempronius Gracchus and C.

Sempronius Rutilus, tribunes of the plebs, set a trial date for him…’).

74

prostitution of public office to private interests, thereby undermining the freedom of

the state from the influence of powerful individuals. Given Livy’s invidious portrayal

of tribunes who work for nobiles, collaborations between tribunes and senate, which

the historian often presents positively, should not be read as evidence of the

tribunate’s subjection to the nobility.

The simplest explanation for the tribunes’ willingness to be directed by senate

is that it is a manifestation of the deference owed to senatus auctoritas. This would

have been quite obvious to Livy’s Roman readers, in whom respect for the moral

authority of the senate was culturally ingrained. The readiness of the tribunes to obey

senatus consulta, most visibly in the promulgation of laws on the senate’s behalf,

must have seemed so natural to the AUC’s original audience as to require no

explanation. There are, however, several moments in the AUC which illustrate

tribunician deference to senatus auctoritas more explicitly.

On these occasions, Livy portrays tribunes as acting, unprompted, out of

respect for senatus auctoritas, rather than merely obeying the senatus consulta.

Sometimes this entails simply using their powers in a way a manner pleasing to the

senate. At 27.8.7-10, for example, a praetor expels the new flamen Dialis C. Valerius

Flaccus from the senate when the latter tried to take up the seat formerly reserved for

that priesthood. Livy reports that ‘out of the all the youth nobody was considered

more eminent or more worthy of approval by the most prominent of the fathers’

(27.8.6: nemo tota iuuentute haberetur prior nec probatior primoribus patrum) than

Flaccus. Thus, when the tribunes affirm his right to sit in the senate after he appeals

to them, they are acting in accordance with senatorial consensus: and it is with the

‘enormous approval of the fathers and the plebs’, magno adsensu patrum plebisque,

that they escort him into the senate (27.8.10). Livy’s emphasis on the universal

admiration for Flaccus, particularly among the foremost senators, makes it possible

to read the tribune’s decision as a response to public opinion, especially that of the

senatorial order, although the historian does not explicitly describe it as such. But

there is room for doubt, and behaving in a manner that is pleasing to the senate should

not automatically be taken to mean that a tribune has been influenced by the senate.

During the so-called ‘Trials of the Scipiones’, the tribune Ti. Sempronius Gracchus

repeatedly earns the senate’s praise for his actions, but it will be argued below that he

is not portrayed as being motivated or influenced by the senate’s feelings. Respect for

the senatorial consensus has a more explicit influence on tribunes’ actions in an

75

episode that has already been mentioned, however. When the senate’s opinion turns

against the consuls C. Popilius Laenas and P. Aelius Ligur, who are obstructing the

senate’s efforts to make M. Popilius restore the liberty and property of the Ligurian

Statellae and refusing to depart for their province until the matter is dropped, two

tribunes intervene, ‘incited by this consensus of the fathers’ (42.21.4: hoc consensu

patrum accensi).295 Out of respect for this consensus (and not under orders since the

consul will not allow any sentaus consultum to be proclaimed), M. Marcius Sermo

and Q. Marcius Scilla effect the senate’s will by decreeing that they will fine the

consuls if they do not leave, and then bringing a rogatio senatus consulto to right the

wrongs done to the Statellae (42.21.4-5, 8).

As noted above, however, this case is highly unusual. The tribunes’ regard for

senatorial opinion is more often expressed when they refer matters to the senate for

judgement. In a small but important group of episodes, tribunes concede to the patres

the right to decide contentious issues that have been brought to them or in which they

have interceded. Some of these episodes concern a person’s eligibility for a public

position: the legality of a dictator being elected consul by the comitia over which he

presides (27.6.9, 11), a plebeian’s right to stand for a traditionally patrician priesthood

(27.8.3), a young man’s premature candidacy for the consulate (32.7.11-12). Other

matters referred to the senate concern consular attempts to wrest prouinciae from the

men to whom they are currently entrusted (30.40.9-11 and 32.28.3-9), an appeal by

maritime colonists against a levy (36.3.5), and the question of what to do with the

books ascribed to Numa Pompilius discovered by L. Petillius (40.29.12-13). While

the subjects of these referrals vary considerably, they are alike in being matters of

great public importance. The tribunes’ willingness to defer to the senate’s judgement

therefore reflects their acknowledgement of the superiority of the senate’s judgement

and its right to preside over questions of mos maiorum (where it concerns eligibility

for high office and, in the case of Petillius’ books, religion) and the running of the

empire (the effective deployment of commanders and the recruitment of soldiers).

These episodes shed light on the nature of the tribunes’ cooperation with the

senate in Books 21-45. The tribunate’s obedience to the senate is based on willing

deference to the patres’ traditional, collective auctoritas. Livy usually presents the

tribunes’ deference to the senate as a given, requiring no explanation (unlike the

295 For the background to this episode, see 42.8.1-9.6; 42.10.9-15; 42.21.1-3.

76

efforts of certain tribunes on the behalf of nobiles), but in the cases discussed above

he indicates that it is entirely voluntary and born of their acknowledgement of the

senate’s powers of judgement and of the moral authority its judgements carry. 296

Insofar as the tribunes do fulfil the wishes of the ruling élite, for the most part they

are depicted as doing so of their own accord, out of respect for the auctoritas of the

senate, not out of a craven desire to serve the nobiles. This deferential attitude towards

the senate is the reason that the tribunate plays a less disruptive part in politics in

Livy’s later books than in the earlier ones: it is both the basis of the concordia that

prevails between the tribunate and the senate, and the outward manifestation of that

concordia.

The concordia that prevails between tribunate and senate benefits both

institutions, and through them the res publica in general. Livy’s portrayal of their

relationship makes it clear that their collaboration is essential to the good governance

of Rome, and that despite their typically subordinate rôle in the relationship the

tribunes’ contributions are no less essential to maintaining a functioning and well-

governed state. After all, despite its importance in the Roman political system, the

senate’s ability to effect its will outside the walls of the Curia was quite limited. In

the AUC, however, the tribunes lend the senate their agency in the political spheres to

which they have privileged access. The most common example of this phenomenon

is of course the rogationes that tribunes bring before the concilium plebis on the

senate’s behalf, which effectively gives the senate the ability to legislate. The

tribunes’ willingness to act as the senate’s proxies in the concilium plebis affords the

senate a mechanism for turning its resolutions into laws, which in turn allows them to

govern with the sanction of the populus. At the same time, it ensures that the laws the

tribunes pass are in the best interests of the res publica, informed as they are by the

collective wisdom of the senate. Regular collaboration between senate and tribunate

is therefore indispensable to the governance of the libera res publica, since the

cooperation and participation of both institutions is necessary for the passage of laws

296 The impression of willing obedience is reinforced by Livy’s occasional inclusion of the phrase si

iis uideretur, ‘if it seemed right to them’, in senatorial edicts requiring bills to be promulgated by the

tribunes (25.5.8; 30.27.3; 30.41.4). The phrase gives these edicts the appearance of requests, and imply

that the tribunes’ compliance with them is voluntary, not compulsory. Badian 1990: 206 suggests that

the phrase is a relic of a time before the tribunes was fully, formally integrated into the senate, when

the patres could not simply instruct the tribunes to bring a rogatio on its behalf but had to negotiate

with them to do so.

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that benefit from both the wisdom and moral clarity of the senate and the legitimacy

conferred by a popular vote.

Similarly, the tribunes sometimes allow the senate to exert a positive influence

over matters in which they would otherwise have no say, as in the instances of

contested candidacy mentioned above. The two consular elections, in particular,

demonstrate how tribunes can extend the auctoritas of the senate into other political

arenas, to the benefit of all involved. In the first of these episodes, C. and L. Arrenius

interrupt the voting after the centuria praerogatiua chooses Q. Fulvius Flaccus, who

happens to be the dictator presiding over the election. The tribunes object that it sets

a dangerous precedent for a man to be allowed to preside over his own election

(27.6.5). A long debate ensues, with the dictator citing legal precedent and countering

the tribunes’ argument with positive exempla (27.6.6-9), and at length he and the

tribunes agree to abide by the senate’s judgement (27.6.10). The patres effectively

confirm the validity of Flaccus’ argument, declaring that they do not favour any

further delays in the elections because under the current circumstances the state ought

to be led by tried and tested generals.297 The tribunes duly withdraw their veto, and

the old campaigner Flaccus is elected consul for the fourth time. On the other

occasion, M. Fulvius and M. Curius obstruct the elections because T. Quinctius

Flamininus is standing for the consulate after holding only a quaestorship (32.7.8-9).

They argue that nobiles such as Flamininus are treating the aedilate and praetorship

with contempt, and aspiring to the highest office without first providing documenta

of their worth by holding the lower ones (32.7.10). After a debate in the Campus

Martius, the matter is referred to the senate, which upholds the right of the populus to

elect any legitimate candidate it wishes (32.7.11), and the tribunes acquiesce in the

senators’ authority (32.7.12: in auctoritate patrum fuere tribuni). Thus, in both

episodes the tribunes’ intercessiones and their subsequent referral of the problem to

the patres (explicit at 27.6.10, implicit at 32.7.11) give the senate the power to decide

a matter affecting comitia, an area usually outside of its purview. Although the senate

overturns the tribunes’ objections to the two men’s candidacies, there is nothing in

either account to suggest that these objections are unreasonable. The intercessiones

297 27.6.10: patribus id tempus rei publicae uisum est ut per ueteres et expertos bellique peritos

imperatores res publica gereretur; itaque moram fieri comitiis non placere (‘To the fathers it seemed

that, in the current state of affairs, public affairs should be conducted by old and tested imperatores

experienced in war; and so the delay in the elections was not pleasing’).

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are not motivated by enmity or ambition, but by a legitimate concern for the

preservation of tradition. But in the end the tribunes concede the right to decide to the

patres, making them, quite rightly, the ultimate arbiters in matters of mos. One again,

the collaborative relationship between senate and tribunate ensures that the state is

well-served. 298 The tribunes’ right to intercede in comitial proceedings acts as a

safeguard against potential abuses, preserving libertas populi; the tribunes’ readiness

to submit the problem to the senate, meanwhile, ensures that it is judged by the men

most competent to do so; and the senate’s judgement is vindicated by the successes

of Flaccus and Flamininus. And, once again, cooperation between senate and tribunes

is mutually beneficial: the tribunes allow the senate to influence comitia, while the

senate resolves problems that the tribunes by themselves could not.

In these cases, and in others that will be discussed in the next chapter, the

senate’s auctoritas and insight are required to resolve disputes involving tribunes.

These episodes reaffirm the necessity of the senate’s wisdom and authority for

maintaining concordia at Rome. They also demonstrate the value of the senate’s

oversight to the functioning of the tribunate, particularly (as the following chapter

will argue) when the tribunes’ ability to veto one another’s decisions creates an

impasse. But there are also occasions in Books 21-45 in which the tribunes’

independence from the curule magistrates allows them to resolve disputes between

consuls and the senate in the latter’s favour. The Ligurian controversy at 42.21, in

which two tribunes use their prerogatives to bypass the senate when it was paralysed

by the consuls’ obstruction of its resolutions and then settle the affair in accordance

with the senate’s preferences, has already been discussed. It is not only the senate that

benefits from the tribunes’ resolution of this affair, however, but the Roman state in

general. By compelling the consuls to leave for their province by their threat of a fine,

tribunes free the senate to pass resolutions and thus return to the business of

governing. Furthermore, by ordering M. Popilius to take steps to reverse the wrongs

298 Cf. Q. Fabius Maximus’ intervention and subsequent election by an assembly over which he

presides (24.7.11-9.3) and the contested candidacy of P. Scipio for the aedilate (25.2.6-7), in which

their opponents give way before the personal auctoritas of Fabius and the popular enthusiasm for

Scipio. These two cases have the potential to be more problematic than those in which the tribunes

withdraw their objections out of respect for senatus auctoritas, because they depict individuals who

are able to circumvent customary and institutional limits on personal political influence. It was argued

earlier in this chapter that Livy deliberately downplays the problematic potential of Fabius’ election.

Scipio’s candidacy, however, remains morally ambiguous, and, as the section on him in the final

chapter will show, it forms part of a wider pattern of exceptional and problematic behaviour that Livy

ascribes to him.

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he has done to the Ligurians, the tribunes’ bill restores the honour of the Roman

people. The tribunes use their powers to bypass an obdurate consul to the benefit of

the senate and the state in an earlier episode, too. When news comes of an impending

invasion from Africa, the senate orders the consul M. Valerius Laevinus, who happens

to be in Rome, not to wait to conduct the consular elections in person, but to appoint

a dictator to do so and return to his army in Sicily immediately (27.5.10-14). Laevinus

nominates M. Valerius Messalla, commander of the fleet in Sicily, but the senate

refuses to accept his nomination because Messalla is outside of Roman territory

(27.5.15). The consul refuses to concede, so the senate decrees that the choice should

be given to the people; still Laevinus refuses to surrender his prerogative and forbids

the praetor to do so either (27.5.16-17). The tribunes, however, unconstrained by

consular authority, fulfil the senate’s wishes and bring a rogatio before the concilium

plebis (27.5.17). Again, this benefits the whole state as well as the senate, because it

quickly resolves a problem that, had it dragged on, would have deprived Sicily of its

consul and left Roman territory open to invasion. The tribunes come to the aid of the

senate against a consul on another occasion, when P. Scipio, eager to obtain Africa as

his province, is rumoured to be willing to put the matter to a popular vote if the senate

should deny his wishes (28.45.1-3). Refusing to take part in a senatorial discussion

that the consul seems intent on ignoring if it does not go his way, Q. Fulvius Flaccus

appeals to the senate to defend him if he refuses to give his sententia when called

upon (28.45.4-5). The tribunes not only promise to defend any senator who refuses to

give his sententia, but decree that if Scipio asks the senate to assign provinces he must

abide by its decision, and vow to obstruct any subsequent attempt by Scipio to bring

the matter before the people (28.45.7). In so doing, the tribunes uphold the libertas of

the senators and ensure that the senate’s auctoritas is respected.

Thus, instances of tribunician disruption notwithstanding, the later extant

books of the AUC convey an impression of general concordia between the tribunate

and the senate. Livy creates this impression by depicting the tribunes working with

the senate on a regular basis, both in everyday affairs and in moments of political

conflict. The latter naturally stand out from the often monotonous narrative of

domestic affairs, but they merely highlight qualities that are conveyed by Livy’s

portrayal of the regular, unremarkable interactions of the senate and the tribunes. The

tribunes’ obedience to the senate, manifested by their unquestioning enactment of its

decrees, their willingness to seek its counsel, and their deference to its judgement, is

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based on their respect for senatus auctoritas. The relationship between senate and

tribunate is therefore not an equal one: as many scholars have recognised, Livy

portrays the tribunes of the mature res publica as subordinate to the patres. But Livy

does not depict the tribunes as mancipia senatus, still less as mancipia nobilium; he

presents the tribunes’ deference as voluntary, and their relationship with the senate as

mutually beneficial. The concordia that prevails between the tribunes and the senate

enhances the work done by both parties, letting them govern more effectively and, in

several instances, allowing them to ameliorate political discord by working together.

2.2.3 Concordia by omission

The impression of concordia created by the many instances of cooperation between

the tribunes and the senate is complemented by the vagueness of Livy’s account of

domestic politics. As noted above, there is reason to believe that Livy deliberately

minimised the political conflicts of the late third and early second centuries in his

effort to present that time as an age of concordia maxuma, and there is some evidence

of this tendency in his depiction of the tribunes. There is an illuminating example of

this at 38.36.7-9, where the tribune C. Valerius Tappo promulgates a law to grant full

citizenship to the people of Formiae, Fundi, and Arpinum.

huic rogationi quattuor tribuni plebis, quia non ex auctoritate senatus

ferretur, cum intercederent, edocti populi esse non senatus ius

suffragium quibus uelit impertire, destiterunt incepto (38.36.8).

When four tribunes of the plebs interceded against this bill because it

was not being carried with the senate’s authorisation, having been

instructed that it was the people’s right, not the senate’s to bestow

suffragium on whomever it wished, they ceased what they had started.

This single short sentence is all the space Livy allocates to a controversy that, even

from this curt summary, would seem to demand a detailed treatment. The elements

involved – discordia among the tribunes, a plurality of them defending auctoritas

senatus against the lone legislator, the latter’s assertion of ius populi against the

authority of the senate – all serve as the raw material for extended political episodes

elsewhere in Livy, yet here they are all but passed over. Livy does not even avail

himself of the opportunity for a speech that might at least have shown how Valerius

succeeded in convincing his colleagues to withdraw their veto. Instead, he simply

writes rogatio perlata est, and goes on to record the enrolment of the new citizens

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(38.36.9). The brevity of the episode is surely deliberate, and it is easily explained by

the embarrassing details of the Valerian plebiscite: here is a lone tribune who not only

acts without auctoritas senatus but succeeds in passing his law without it, by

appealing to the rights of the populus. In a more detailed treatment Tappo might have

come across as seditiosus, and his successful assertion of popular jurisdiction over

senatorial auctoritas could, on closer inspection, have awkward implications for

Livy’s general depiction of tribunate as the senate’s willing but subordinate partner

at this time. But the cursory treatment that the episode receives diminishes its impact

on the narrative as a whole, preventing it from undermining the impression of

concordia between the tribunate and the senate.

In fact, it appears that to lessen the significance of tribunician discord in his

narrative Livy has even gone so far as to omit other difficult episodes entirely. Two

such instances that ought to have been included in Livy’s fourth decade are known

from other sources: Plutarch (Flam. 18.2) alludes to a law passed by one Terentius

Culleo (tr. pl. 189?) that compelled the censors to enrol all freeborn men ‘in defiance

of the aristocrats’ (); Cicero (De or. 2.261-2)

mentions that the tribune M. Pinarius Rusca, presumably the praetor of 181, provoked

opposition by proposing a lex annalis. 299 Assuming that these episodes were

discussed by some of annalists available to Livy (and this seems almost certain of the

case discussed by Cicero, at least), then his omission of them requires some

explanation. Badian cites these as evidence of the historian’s lack of interest in the

mid-Republican tribunate, but, as it will be argued below, this explanation is less

convincing in light of other comparable episodes that Livy does discuss.300 It is more

likely that they are omitted for the same reason that the episode of the lex Valeria is

treated so briefly: to avoid giving the impression of a tribunate that regularly defied

the Senate or disrupted the élite consensus at this point in Roman history.301

Other omissions in Livy’s depiction of the tribunate are more subtle, but also

contribute to the prevailing sense of concordia in politics. The lack of detail in Livy’s

accounts of the legislation, for example, actually reinforces the impression of easy

cooperation between tribunes and senate. As noted above, the historian’s descriptions

299 The anecdote focuses on only the consular M. Servilius Pulex Geminus as an opponent of the bill,

but the words attributed to Servilius imply that others opposed it too. 300 Badian 1996: 187-8. 301 See Mouritsen 2017: 109 on Livy’s omission of these two episodes.

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of tribunician legislation tends to be vague on matters of procedure: it is not always

clear whether a bill was drawn up by the senate or by the tribune(s) who put it to the

assembly, nor is it always clear whether a rogatio has received senatorial sanction.

Sometimes Livy does not even mention the involvement of tribunes in the passage of

laws in which some members of the college must have participated. In three cases,

his references to plebiscita do at least imply tribunician involvement, but Livy

obscures the tribunes’ rôle while foregrounding that of the senate.302 One of these

episodes (35.40.5) is a description of the foundation of a colony ex senatus consulto

plebique scito. Other colonies were likely established according to the same procedure

(cf. 34.53.1), but Livy does not always refer to the tribunes’ legislative rôle. Livy’s

rather casual treatment of legislative procedures has been a source of frustration to

historians intent on understanding the practical aspects of Roman government, and it

is attributed, as ever, to the Patavine’s ignorance of and lack of interest in public

affairs.303 This is not an unjust assessment: more often than not, Livy is content

merely to report the fact of colonial foundations, without bothering to refer to either

the senatus consulta or plebiscita that authorised them.304 Still, it is worth considering

the effect of the historian’s lack of precision on the impression he gives of the

tribunate’s relations with the senate. His truncated accounts of legislation elide the

discrete rôles that the senate and the tribunate played in the process. By obscuring the

boundaries between the two institutions, Livy gives the impression of complete

harmony between them. Furthermore, the brevity of these episodes reinforces the

impression that the tribunate is the subordinate partner in the relationship. As noted

above, Livy’s accounts of legislation tend to focus on the senate, dwelling on debates

among the patres far more often than he does debates in contione among the tribunes.

And while it is generally clear when the senate has initiated legislation that is

promulgated ex auctoritate patrum, it tends to be less obvious when a tribune has

drawn up a bill that received senatorial approval (except in highly unusual

302 25.7.5: comitia deinde a praetore urbano de senatus sententia plebique scitu sunt habita… (‘Then

elections were held by the praetor urbanus in accordance with the judgement of the senate and by

plebiscitum…’); 35.20.9: sed his duobus primum senatus consulto, deinde plebei etiam scito

permutatae prouinciae sunt (‘But the provinces assigned to these two men were changed first by decree

of the senate, then also by plebiscitum’); 35.40.5: eodem hoc anno Vibonem colonia deducta est ex

senatus consulto plebique scito (‘In this same year a colony was established at Vibo by decree of the

senate and by plebiscitum’). 303 Badian 1996: 188-9, referring to Livy’s treatment of viritane land distributions and colonial

foundations. 304 Badian 1996: 188.

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circumstances, as the analysis above has shown). Thus, the lack of detail and clarity

contribute to the sense of the senate’s supremacy over public affairs, while

downplaying the autonomy of the tribunate and thus the significance of its

involvement in legislation – to the extent that the rôle of the tribunes can even be

passed over entirely. Livy’s cursory treatment of the complicated interactions of the

tribunate and senate therefore enhances the impression of inter-institutional

concordia, with the senate supreme and the tribunate a willing and obedient

collaborator.

The impression of concord between the tribunate and the senate is matched by

a subtle suggestion of concord among the tribunes that is also achieved, in part, by

the AUC’s lack of precision. As a rule, Livy avoids naming individual tribunes except

when circumstances necessitate it. More commonly, he simply ascribes the activities

of tribunes to tribuni plebis, ‘the tribunes of the plebs’ in general, neither referring to

specific individuals nor reporting the number of tribunes involved in a given

activity. 305 This is not, as Badian suggests, because Livy is uninterested in the

tribunes; nor is it merely intended to avoid disrupting the flow of his prose with a list

of names, for in other contexts Livy is quite happy to provide lengthy lists (of

candidates for high office, for example).306 A better understanding of the effect it has

in the depiction of the tribunate can be gained from a comparison with the situations

in which Livy does name individual tribunes. In most cases, tribunes are singled out

for causing or exacerbating political controversies. Indeed, most of the contentious

episodes that will be discussed in the following chapter revolve around a lone

tribune.307 In contrast, most of the uncontroversial, everyday activities of the tribunate

are attributed to an undifferentiated plurality of tribunes, as are some overtly positive

acts. Not every lone tribune named in the AUC is a troublemaker, of course: many are

mentioned more-or-less in passing, in entirely neutral contexts. Many others are

named as one of a pair responsible for a range of activities, and a few of these pairs,

305 25.12.6-7; 25.5.8; 26.2.5-6; 26.21.5; 27.5.7; 27.5.7, 14-19; 27.8.3, 4-10; 28.45.4-7; 29.19.6;

29.22.7; 30.27.3-4; 30.41.4; 31.50.6-11; 33.42.2-4; 34.56.9-11; 36.3.4-5; 37.51.4; 40.29.12-13;

42.22.2-3; 43.4.6; 43.6.6; 45.35.4; 45.36.2, 3; 45.36.9-10. 306 Badian 1996: 189. 307 21.63.2, 3-4; 22.25.3-11; 22.34.3-11; 24.43.2-3; 27.20.11-21.4; 29.37.17; 31.6.3-6; 32.7.4; 36.39.4-

40.14; 39.4.3-4; 43.16; 44.16.8; 45.15.9.

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too, cause political discord; 308 many more tribunician pairs, however, contribute

positively to the res publica, most often as the sponsors of senatorially sanctioned

bills or as the opponents of their turbulent colleagues.309 But it is still striking that

most of the tribunes who disturb the harmony of politics are depicted as acting on

their own. Singling out the disruptive tribunes in this way accentuates their

individualism and illustrates how their self-interest damages the res publica.

Attributing actions to pairs of tribunes or to the college as a whole has the opposite

effect: it suggests collegiality, conveys a sense of the cooperation and unity of purpose

that allows the tribunes in question to act together in the service of the res publica.

By attributing agency to several tribunes or the tribunes in general, Livy minimises

the part played by specific individuals in regular tribunician activities and so creates

an impression of concordia within the college.

2.2.4 Ti. Sempronius Gracchus: Livy’s exemplary tribune

There is, however, one particularly noteworthy case in these books of a tribune who

is singled out for his positive rôle. Ti. Sempronius Gracchus features prominently in

two episodes as a tribune, first in the ‘Trials of the Scipiones’ and then in the matter

of M. Fulvius Nobilior’s triumph. Livy devotes significant space to Gracchus’

defence of P. and L. Scipio, even including a digression about an oratio ascribed to

the tribune that contradicts his main narrative. This attention is no doubt explained in

part by Livy’s desire to chronicle Gracchus’ illustrious career. This historian has

already introduced Gracchus as a youth of exceptional vigour, and will go on to treat

his subsequent career in some detail; an extended account of his tribunate, his first

noteworthy public office, is therefore not out of place.310 But Gracchus’ tribunate is

308 37.57.9-58.1 (P. Sempronius Gracchus and C. Sempronius Rutilius’ charges against Glabrio);

38.50-3, 38.54, and 38.60.10 (the Q. Petillii’s persecution of the Scipiones); M. Fundanius and L.

Valerius’ proposal to abrogate the lex Oppia (34.1.2) is not presented in the same overtly negative

light, but it still causes discord. 309 25.3.8-5.1; 27.6.2-11; 29.20.4, 7, 9, 11; 30.40.7-16; 30.43.1-4; 32.8-12; 32.28.3-9; 33.22; 33.25.4-

8; 34.1.4; 35.8.9; 38.54.5, 11; 41.6.2-3; 42.21.3-5; 42.43.7; 43.8.1-3, 9-10. 310 The Ti. Sempronius Gracchus whom Livy describes as being made an augur admodum adulescens

at 29.38.7 may be the consul of 177 and 163 (who certainly became an augur at some point: see Cic.

Div. 1.36), but the identification is not certain: it may instead refer to the otherwise unknown Ti.

Sempronius Gracchus, mentioned at 41.21.8, who was an augur at the time of his death in 174. The

identification of the augur of 29.38.7 with the father of the Gracchi is posited by Bardt 1871: 18-20;

accepted tentatively by Broughton MRR 1.406-7 n. 4 and unequivocally by Rüpke 2005: 1270-1; rejected by Badian 1968: 32-6; Scullard 1973: 285; Evans and Kleijwegt 1992: 192. The consul of 177

is certainly the legatus despatched by L. Scipio to Philip V whom Livy describes as longe tum

acerrimus iuuenum, and who lives up to this description with the speed with which he completes his

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also significant in its own right, because, as Gracchus himself indicates during the

debate over Nobilior’s triumph, it functions as an exemplum of good tribunician

conduct. Here, Livy has Gracchus warn his fellow-tribune M. Aburius that what they

do in their tribunate ‘will be committed to tradition and posterity’ (39.5.5: fore ut

memoriae ac posteritati mandetur), Gracchus’ deeds for positive reasons, Aburius’

for negative ones. The AUC’s depiction of Gracchus in both this episode and the

earlier one fulfils his prediction, memorialising him for the principled and

conscientious way he conducted his tribunate. This is all the more significant because

of the discordia that characterised the tribunates of Gracchus’ sons Tiberius and

Gaius, which Livy would go on to describe in Books 58 and 60-1 respectively. The

Periochae of those books are not sufficiently detailed to attempt a proper

reconstruction of Livy’s characterisation of the Gracchi,311 but the disorders that they

provoked by their reckless abuse of the tribunate’s powers is readily apparent. The

notoriety of the younger Gracchi’s tribunates probably influenced Livy’s choice of

their father to exemplify the qualities of a good tribune: the historical irony would

have been obvious to his audience, and the contrast between father and sons only

accentuates the positive qualities of the former’s tribunate. In the following analysis

of Livy’s depiction of the elder Gracchus in Books 38-9, it should therefore be born

in mind that he serves as a specific antithesis to his sons, as well as as a general

exemplar of proper tribunician behaviour.

Livy’s account of the ‘Trials of the Scipiones’ is famously complicated, and

the involvement of Ti. Gracchus in them no less so. Yet despite the uncertainty over

what exactly Gracchus did and said (especially with regard to the trial of L. Scipio

Asiaticus for embezzlement), Livy is clear about his rôle in the affair, consistently

mission: 37.7.11-14. Livy follows Gracchus’ career closely, recounting his diplomatic mission to

Philip V and Eumenes: 39.24.13; 39.33.1; his appointment as triumvir for establishing the colony at

Saturnia: 39.55.9; his praetorship/propraetorship: 40.35.10-14; 40.40.14-15; 40.47.1-50.5; his first

triumph: 41.7.1-3; his consulate/proconsulate: 41.8.1, 3-5; 41.9.1, 8; 41.12.5-6; 41.15.6-8; 41.17.1-4;

his second triumph: 41.28.8-9; and his censorship: 43.14.1, 5-10; 41.15.7-8; 43.16; 44.16.8; 45.15.1-

9. At 40.44.12 Livy refers to a Ti. Sempronius, an aedile of 182, whose lavish games proved such a

financial burden on the people of the empire that that the senate issued a decree regulating expenditure

on games. This aedile is generally identified as the father of the Gracchi (e.g. Münzer RE 2A.1405;

MRR 1.382; Briscoe 2008: 525-6; Walsh 1996: 166-7), but Livy makes no mention of his aedilate in

his account of 182. It is possible that Livy omitted it intentionally out of a desire to show Gracchus

only in a good light, as Walsh 1996: 167 suggests, or it may simply be that Livy’s (possibly hostile)

source only mentioned it in this context, as Briscoe 2008: 525 argues; either way, Livy’s brevity spares

Gracchus’ reputation. 311 Furthermore, the Periochae are not necessarily a guide to Livy’s treatment of a subject or character,

because the epitomator had his own interests and agenda: see Chaplin 2010, esp. 460-3; Levene 2015.

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depicting him as the defender of the Scipiones. Livy also emphasises that the tribune’s

stalwart defence of the brothers is not a product of any partisan concerns; indeed, Livy

draws attention to the enmity that existed between Gracchus and P. Scipio Africanus

at the first mention of the former during the ‘Trials’ sequence (38.52.9: tribunus

plebis eo tempore Ti. Sempronius Gracchus erat, cui inimicitiae cum P. Scipione

intercedebant.) Rather, Gracchus champions the cause of the Scipiones because he is

conscious of the proper functions of the tribunate and cares for the majesty of the

Roman people.

Gracchus’ subordination of his private concerns to the public good is stressed

from the outset. He is introduced after L. Scipio appeals to the tribunes, claiming that

his brother Africanus, who has retired to his house at Liternum, is too ill to obey the

summons to another hearing in Rome (38.52.1-8). When Gracchus forbids his name

to be added to his colleagues’ decree of an adjournment, everyone expects him to give

a harsher pronouncement because, Livy implies, of his known inimicitia towards P.

Scipio (38.52.9). But Gracchus instead declares that he will veto any subsequent

attempt to try Scipio in absentia, and that, in the event of his return, he will intercede,

if appealed to, to save the great man from having to plead his case at all (38.52.10).

Gracchus justifies his unexpected decree by recalling Africanus’ deeds and the

honours bestowed upon him by the Roman populus, arguing that for such a man ‘to

stand as a defendant beneath the Rostra and to subject his ears to the bawling of young

men [i.e. the two Q. Petillii, the tribunes hounding Scipio] would be a greater

dishonour to the Roman people than to himself’ (38.52.11: ut sub rostris reum stare

et praebere aures adulescentium conuiciis populo Romano magis deforme quam ipsi

sit).312 Livy has Gracchus reiterate this argument in a short indignatio addressed to

his fellow tribunes at 38.53.1-4. The purpose of indignatio is to arouse strong emotion

– in this case, shame at the harassment of someone who ought to command respect

because of his achievements and the honours bestowed on him – and it has the

intended effect not just on the other tribunes, but on Scipio’s accusers, whom it

induces to reconsider their prosecution (38.53.5).313

312 The spelling of the nomen of Scipio’s accusers used here follows Briscoe’s practice in his Teubner

edition (1991) and his commentary (2008: 180), which in turn follows Sigonius as well as the Fasti

and other epigraphic evidence. One of these two tribunes is probably Q. Petillius Spurinus, cos. 176

(MRR 1.369), the other presumably his cousin: Münzer RE 19.1138; Briscoe 2008: 179-80. 313 On the functions of indignatio or amplificatio, see Cic. Inv. rhet. 2.48, cf. 1.98, 100-5; Briscoe 2008:

187; Craig 2010: 77-9.

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Gracchus’ rôle in Livy’s account of Scipio Africanus’ ‘trial’ is to vindicate the

latter’s conduct in the preceding chapters (38.50.10-12 and 38.51.6-52.2). The

tribune’s decree and speech serve to reiterate and elucidate the themes introduced by

Livy’s account of the Petillii’s first contio, where Scipio’s achievements and the

shameful ingratitude of the Romans to a man on whom they have bestowed the highest

honours are also emphasised.314 Livy also characterises the accusations of the Petillii

as nothing more than calumny against a man of unblemished reputation (38.51.4), and

Gracchus’ dismissal of his colleagues’ lawsuit as adulescentium conuicia (38.52.11)

reinforces the opprobrium attached to it. That it is Scipio’s inimicus who recognises

the shamefulness of his treatment vindicates his response to it, confirming that his

effective refusal to submit to the tribunes’ authority is not unjustified.

But Gracchus has a significance beyond his function in the episode as a whole,

for his conduct, both as a tribune and as a member of the political élite more generally,

is exemplary. Gracchus displays the qualities of a good leader, demonstrating sound

judgement and the ability to influence public affairs for the better. Livy also presents

Gracchus as an able orator, but his decree and supplementary oratio demonstrate more

than his effective use of rhetoric. They show that Gracchus has an accurate

understanding of the attack on Scipio and its significance, which is to say that his

assessment of the situation matches Livy’s presentation of it in the preceding chapters.

That Gracchus recognises the shamefulness of the attempt to degrade a man of

Scipio’s stature on false pretences (as the AUC’s readers are expected to, from what

amounts to an indignatio directed at them at 38.51.7-14) demonstrates both political

insight and sound moral instincts on his part. 315 His judgement is all the more

authoritative because it is unbiased by feelings of friendship towards Scipio, and it is

recognised as such by the senate at the meeting that follows his decree.

ibi gratiae ingentes ab uniuerso ordine, praecipue a consularibus

senioribusque, Ti. Graccho actae sunt, quod rem publicam priuatis

simultatibus potiorem habuisset (38.53.6)[.]

There exuberant thanks was given to Ti. Gracchus by the whole order,

especially by the consulars and older men, because he had held the res

publica more important than private quarrels.

314 See esp. 38.50.6-7, 11-12; 38.51.7-14. 315 This also reflects, and effectively confirms, the first of the two conflicting interpretations of the

affair mentioned by Livy at 38.50.6-7.

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The senators also denounce the Petillii, verbalising what has hitherto only been

implicit, that these tribunes are motivated not by a desire for justice but by self-

interest: ‘they wanted to be illustrious through another person’s unpopularity and

were after the spoils of a triumph over Africanus’ (38.53.7: splendere aliena inuidia

uoluissent et spolia ex Africani triumpho peterent). 316 This too confirms that

Gracchus’ opposition to the Petillii is morally sound. The approval of the senate

affirms that Gracchus has interpreted the situation correctly and that he has responded

to it appropriately.

Gracchus’ personal virtues are complemented by his dedication to his duties

as a tribune. His decree calls attention to the powers of his magistracy, and in doing

so conveys his mindfulness of the responsibilities of his office. Gracchus begins by

promising to stop his fellow tribunes trying Africanus when he is not present to defend

himself, implicitly by using his power of intercessio (38.52.10). Gracchus then offers

his auxilium to Scipio should the latter exercise his right of prouocatio, to prevent

him from being subjected to public harassment (si se appellet, auxilio ei futurum, ne

causam dicat). The decree harks back to the original and primary purpose of the

tribunate: to defend citizens from abuse at the hands of magistrates. Of course, the

magistrates against whom the tribunate was originally conceived as a defence were

the consuls, whereas Gracchus invokes its powers against other tribunes. And in fact

the Petillii, like Gracchus, have framed their arguments around the customary rôle of

the tribunate. After Scipio fails to obey their summons, the Petillii, in what amounts

to a charge of tyranny, accuse him of superbia and of robbing the populus of their

rights and freedoms. Their argument (38.52.4-5) hinges on the traditional symbolism

of the tribunate as the guarantor of the people’s libertas. They suggest that by refusing

to obey their summons, and by causing their previous contio to break up, Scipio has

in effect abrogated tribunician authority and hence ‘deprived’ the Romans ‘of their

right to speak their minds about him, and of their libertas’ (38.52.5: ius sententiae de

se dicendae et libertatem ademisset). So in 38.52-3 Livy pits not only the tribunes but

their respective interpretations of the tribunate’s functions against one another:

Gracchus and his focus on the tribunate’s duty to protect citizens from magisterial

316 Livy applies the phrase splendere aliena inuidia, with equal opprobrium, to C. Terentius Varro’s

invectives against Q. Fabius Maximus Verrucosus at 22.34.2: Briscoe 2008: 189. On the rôle of these

invectives in Varro’s ascent to the consulate of 216, see Chapter 4.2.2.

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power, against the Petillii and their emphasis on the more abstract rôle of the tribunate

as guarantor of popular freedom. This does not represent a conflict of ideologies,

however, since Gracchus’ and the Petillii’s conceptions of tribunate and its purposes

are not antithetical.317 The conflict is instead between the ways that the tribunes are

actually performing their rôles. Livy has made it clear that the Petillii’s prosecution

of Africanus is unwarranted with his curt summation of their original accusations:

‘They heaped inuidia however they could on someone who was untouched by ill

repute’ (38.51.4: infamia intactum inuidia, qua possunt, urgent). The Petillii are

therefore abusing their powers by prosecuting an innocent man, and, as such, by

defending Scipio Gracchus is fulfilling his obligation as a tribune to protect citizens

from mistreatment at the hands of the magistrates. Despite their rhetoric, it is not the

Petillii but Gracchus who is the true defender of libertas here. And although his

energies are focused on a single individual, Gracchus also displays a concern for his

duty to the Roman populace in general. His justification for defending Scipio focuses

on the great man and his contributions, but the he also frames his argument as a

defence of the honour and reputation of the populus Romanus:

ad id fastigium rebus gestis honoribus populi Romani P. Scipionem

deorum hominumque consensu peruenisse, ut sub rostris reum stare et

praebere aures adulescentium conuiciis populo Romano magis deforme

quam ipsi sit (38.52.11).

such a pinnacle had P. Scipio reached by his deeds and by the honours

of the Roman people, with the approval of gods and men, that for him

to stand as a defendant beneath the Rostra and to subject his ears to the

bawling of young men would be a greater dishonour to the Roman

people than to himself.

The sentiment is reiterated in his supplementary speech. After recounting Scipio’s

achievements, Gracchus reminds his audience that it is they who have conferred

honours on Scipio (38.53.4: uestris honoribus) in an effort to shame them into

recognising how badly Scipio’s prosecution reflects on them. This concern for the

honour of the populus is entirely appropriate for a tribune of the plebs.318 So again it

317 On the contrary, they are interdependent, since the notion of the tribunate as a bulwark of libertas

rested primarily on the tribunes’ ius auxilii: see Arena 2012: 50-3. 318 Gracchus also exemplifies one side of the debate, mentioned by Livy at 38.50.6, that the ‘trial’ of

Africanus provoked: alii non tribunos plebis sed uniuersam ciuitatem, quae id pati posset, incusabant

(‘Some people found fault with not only the tribunes of the plebs [i.e. the Petillii] but the entire state

for being about to allow this’).

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is Gracchus, and not the Petillii, who emerges as the better servant of the Roman

people in this episode.

Livy therefore presents Ti. Sempronius Gracchus as an alternative model of

tribunician conduct to the negative one afforded by the Petillii. Although Scipio’s

accusers present themselves as defenders of popular libertas, Livy’s characterisation

of their accusations (38.51.4; cf. 38.51.1), together with the hostile reactions of

Gracchus (38.52.11; cf. 38.53.3) and the senate (38.53.7) to them, show that they are

in fact no more than demagogues whose rhetoric serves a malicious personal agenda.

Gracchus, on the other hand, fulfils his tribunician obligation to protect citizens from

predatory magistrates in spite of his personal enmity towards the citizen in question.

In so doing, he also serves the public interest by preventing the populus Romanus

from dishonouring itself by allowing one of its heroes to be persecuted unjustly. By

serving the populus and preserving libertas (that of Scipio) more effectively than the

Petillii, Gracchus redeems the tribunate from them and exemplifies how the

magistracy can fulfil its traditional remit when it is not abused for selfish purposes,

and without resorting to demagoguery. As an exemplum of how a tribune ought to

carry out his duties, Gracchus’ performance in 38.52.9-53.4 is comprehensive, and its

exemplary power is signalled by the very specific terms in which Livy describes its

effect on the Petillii. Moved by their colleague’s decree and oratio, ‘they said they

were going to discuss between themselves what their right and duty was’ (38.53.5:

deliberaturos se quid iuris sui et officii esset dixerunt’). Gracchus’ words do not

simply convince the Petillii to abandon their prosecution of Scipio; they actually force

the Petillii to reappraise the right(s) and obligation(s), ius et officium, of the

magistracy that they share with Gracchus. If Gracchus’ exemplum can persuade the

unscrupulous Petillii to consider the proper rôle of the tribunate, it ought to be all the

more persuasive to the conscientious reader.

Livy does not describe in detail how the matter was resolved. Only a curt

notice that ‘Thereafter there was silence regarding Africanus’ (silentium deinde de

Africano fuit) precedes Livy’s obituary for Scipio (38.53.8-11), but the impact of

Gracchus’ intervention is clear enough. This is therefore a rare instance of a tribune

who brings about a just resolution to a political conflict and restores concordia (albeit

temporarily) by breaking with his colleagues rather than working with them. As

illustrated above, it is far more common in Books 21-45 for individual tribunes,

especially those who act without their colleagues’ support, to be a source of discord.

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Gracchus, however, is depicted as acting alone throughout the episode. There is no

hint in the AUC that Gracchus is serving factional interests, despite attempts by some

historians and commentators to read his intervention in this way.319 Nor is Gracchus

depicted as the mancipium of the senate. Although he earns the praise of the patres,

nothing in his decree or his supplementary speech suggests that he had been seeking

their approval, much less working for them. Livy depicts him as acting of his own

accord, directed only by his moral instincts. Gracchus’ independence gives the

exemplum much more authority than it would have had the historian presented him as

mere tool of the senate, but it is the latter quality, the tribune’s moral sensibilities, that

make him a positive actor in the episode. This suggests that dissent and individualism

among the tribunes, while frequently the cause of discordia, are not inherently bad:

the effects of individualism and dissent simply depend on the character and

motivation of the dissenting tribune. Hence, in contrast to the self-interested Petillii,

whose abuse of their tribunician power causes discordia, Gracchus is able to resolve

political conflict by acting alone precisely because he is not self-interested, because

he understands the proper functions of the tribunate and dedicates himself to them.

Thus, in the trial of Scipio Africanus Ti. Sempronius Gracchus serves as a

counterweight to the Petillii, exemplifying the positive potential of the tribunate

where they exemplify the negative. In the contentions over L. Scipio Asiaticus that

follow Africanus’ death Gracchus is cast in a practically identical rôle. Indeed, in

Livy’s primary narrative the details of Gracchus’ intervention on behalf of Asiaticus

so closely resemble those of his intervention on behalf of Africanus that it is almost

certain that some historiographical duplication has occurred.320 What matters for the

present study, however, is not how this duplication occurred but what impact it has

on the characterisation of Gracchus. At 38.60.3-6 Gracchus again dissents from his

colleagues, and again he decrees that he will not allow a man who has contributed so

much to the empire to suffer the indignities to which his enemies would subject him.

The man in this case is L. Scipio, and he has been convicted of accepting a bribe from

319 Scullard 1973: 298, cf. 295-6, in an historical interpretation of the ‘Trials’ that restricts Gracchus’

rôle to his intercession on behalf of L. Scipio, has the tribune intervene at Africanus’ request. Briscoe

1982: 1102, on the other hand, imagines Gracchus to have been a supporter of M. Cato, the instigator

of the attack on the Scipiones, and proposes that Gracchus intervened at the last moment at Cato’s

request, to save the Scipiones from complete humiliation. 320 ‘Primary narrative’ refers to Livy’s main account of the course of events of the ‘Trial of the

Scipiones’ at 38.50.4-55.13 and 38.57-60, which he presents without comment, as distinct from his

discussion of divergent traditions and accounts of the trial and death of Africanus at 38.56-7, which

includes a secondary narrative: an alternative, hypothetical reconstruction of events.

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Antiochus III during his consulate (38.55.5-6). Maintaining his innocence, Scipio

claims that he cannot pay the sum he is charged with having accepted (38.58.2), so

the praetor orders his arrest (38.58.2; 38.60.2). P. Scipio Nasica appeals to the tribunes

(38.58.3), and after they have discussed the matter C. Fannius announces that he and

his colleagues, ‘excepting Gracchus’ (praeter Gracchum), will not intercede to

prevent the praetor from exercising his powers (38.60.3). Gracchus then decrees that

while he will not prevent the praetor from exacting the fine (38.60.4), he will not

permit Scipio to be imprisoned.

Ti. Gracchus ita decreuit…L. Scipionem, qui regem opulentissimum

orbis terrarum deuicerit, imperium populi Romani propagauerit in

ultimos terrarum fines, regem Eumenem, Rhodios, alias tot Asiae urbes

deuinxerit populi Romani beneficiis, plurimos duces hostium in

triumpho ductos carcere incluserit, non passurum inter hostes populi

Romani in carcere et uinculis esse mittique eum se iubere (38.60.5-6).

Ti. Gracchus thus decreed…that he would not allow L. Scipio – who

had conquered the wealthiest king in the world, extended the imperium

of the Roman people to the furthest ends of the earth, bound King

Eumenes, the Rhodians, and so many other cities of Asia with

obligations to the Roman people, and imprisoned in the jail the very

many leaders of their enemies who had been led in triumph – to be in

the jail and in chains among enemies of the Roman people, and

commanded that he be released.

Gracchus’ justification for defending Asiaticus here is essentially the same as the one

he gave for defending Africanus. He emphasises Lucius’ contributions to Roman

imperium, as he did in his decree and speech for Publius (38.52.11-53.4), and in so

doing illuminates the shame that ought to be felt at the great man’s mistreatment. The

shamefulness of the situation is not made explicit here, as it is on the earlier occasion

(38.52.11), but it is forcefully evoked by the contrast between Scipio’s glorious

achievements and the pathetic image of him shackled in the carcer amidst Rome’s

enemies, some of whom he himself might have imprisoned after his triumph. The

target of Gracchus’ indignatio is also the same as before, though again it is less

explicit. On the previous occasion Livy has Gracchus point out that letting the Petillii

degrade Africanus by trying him would dishonour the populus Romanus (38.52.11).

On this occasion it is only implied, but strongly, by the three successive references to

the populus Romanus. Gracchus twice presents Asiaticus’ achievements as services

to the populus Romanus specifically, which not only heightens the pathos of his

description of Asiaticus imprisoned inter hostes populi Romani, but suggests that

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allowing it to happen would be shamefully ungrateful of the Roman people. So once

again Livy depicts Gracchus as the protector not only of an individual citizen, but of

the honour of the populus Romanus, as befits a tribune of the plebs.

Ti. Gracchus is also the focus of Livy’s excursus (38.56-7) on the discrepant

material concerning the trial and death of Scipio Africanus. Livy passes swiftly over

the questions of the identity of Scipio’s accuser (38.56.2, 6) and of the time and

location of his death and burial (38.56.2-4) to a written oratio attributed to Gracchus,

which is so inconsistent with his main account that ‘another story entirely must be

composed in accordance with Gracchus’ speech’ (38.56.8: alia tota serenda fabula

est Gracchi orationi conueniens). The historian does just that, composing an

alternative version of Gracchus’ rôle in the ‘Trials’ based on the oratio and on the

tradition that Africanus was still alive when his brother was convicted and led away

in chains (38.56.9-57.8; 38.57, relating the betrothal of Scipio’s daughter to Gracchus,

proceeds from this alternative version, describing events as though Scipio were still

alive at that point). According to this tradition (38.56.8-9) Africanus tried to free his

brother, and resorted to violence when the tribunes intervened. The oratio ascribed to

Gracchus, or at least the part of it that Livy summarises at 38.56.10-13, reproached

Scipio for this unlawful action. And although Livy’s summary is brief it manages, in

the space of the first sentence, to present Gracchus as the upholder of the tribunate

and its prerogatives yet again. In this version of events, however, it is against

Africanus himself, rather than his persecutors, that Gracchus upholds the tribunate.

The tribune protested that Scipio’s violent interference with his brother’s arrest

amounted to the abolition of tribunicia potestas by a private citizen. Gracchus offered

to defend L. Scipio because ‘it was a more endurable precedent for both the

tribunician power and the res publica to be seen to be conquered by a tribune of the

plebs than by a private citizen’ (38.56.10: tolerabilioris exempli esse a tribuno plebis

potius quam a priuato uictam uideri et tribuniciam potestatem et rem publicam esse).

Walsh interprets this as an allusion to the younger Ti. Gracchus’ removal of his

obstinate colleague M. Octavius from office, which could indeed be viewed as the

overthrow of both the tribunate’s traditional prerogatives and the res publica that they

supported. 321 But in the context of Livy’s summary it is clear that the sense of

revolutionary violence conveyed by uictam…tribuniciam potestatem et rem publicam

321 Walsh 1993: 191.

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pertains not to the tribune but to Scipio Africanus and his recent actions, a point

reinforced by the greater proximity of priuato than tribuno to the phrase they

modify. 322 Gracchus’ statement reflects a desire to preserve the tribunate, not to

overthrow it. His promise to defend L. Scipio is born of his desire to uphold tribunicia

potestas by protecting it from further infringement by a priuatus; any subsequent

obstruction of the arrest would be lawful, initiated by a tribune exercising his rights

to intercede against his colleagues. So although the circumstances of Gracchus’

intervention in this alternative version of events are radically different from those

described by the main narrative, Gracchus still emerges as a tribune of exemplary

conscientiousness.

This characterisation of Gracchus is consistent throughout Livy’s account of

the ‘Trials of the Scipiones’, and it is carried over into Gracchus’ final appearance as

a tribune, at 39.5.1-5, during the debate in the senate over the triumph of M. Fulvius

Nobilior.323 Although this episode takes place in the subsequent book, Gracchus’

appearance in it occurs a mere four chapters after his previous one in the trial of Scipio

Asiaticus, at 38.60.3-7. The later episode prominently features a reference to

Gracchus’ earlier actions, which, besides its immediate function in the narrative,

serves to reinforce the exemplary value of the tribune’s rôle in the previous book.

Gracchus’ appearance in the controversy over Nobilior’s triumph therefore serves as

a coda to his involvement in the ‘Trials of the Scipiones’, which it follows shortly in

the narrative, and to which it is intratextually linked.

The controversy is part of an ongoing feud between Nobilior and M. Aemilius

Lepidus.324 Although the senate, satisfied with Nobilior’s conduct as proconsul in

Aetolia, moves to grant him a triumph, the tribune M. Aburius intervenes, declaring

that he will veto any decree on the matter issued in the absence of Lepidus, currently

a consul and on campaign in Liguria (39.4.1-3). Aburius explains that Lepidus wished

to speak against permitting Fulvius a triumph, and to that end the consul had

instructed the tribune to prevent any decision being made before his return from his

province (39.4.4). Fulvius appeals to the senators’ sense of justice, begging them not

to let Lepidus rob him of his triumph on account of their personal feud, and everyone

322 Cf. Briscoe 2008: 199. 323 On this episode see Pittenger 2008: 204-7. 324 For the disputes that lead up to this particular confrontation, see 38.43.1-2; 37.47.7; 38.35.1; 38.43-

4, with Pittenger 2008: 196-204.

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present tries to convince Aburius to drop his opposition to the decree (39.4.5-5.1). It

is his colleague Ti. Gracchus’ oratio at 39.5.1-5, however, that is chiefly responsible

for moving Aburius (39.5.1, 6). Instead of merely entreating or chastising Aburius as

the other senators do, Gracchus calls his colleague’s attention to the way he is abusing

his office, and offers the exemplum of his own conduct as a corrective. Indeed,

Gracchus’ argument revolves around exemplarity, his misguided colleague’s as much

as his own. He begins by pointing out that it does not set a good exemplum for a

magistrate to pursue his private quarrels while in office (39.5.2: ne suas quidem

simultates pro magistratu exercere boni exempli esse). Although this criticism refers

to Lepidus, Gracchus emphasises that, as a tribune of the plebs, Aburius risks

becoming an even worse exemplum than the consul, by pursuing someone else’s

quarrels (alienarum uero simultatum tribunum plebis cognitorem fieri turpe).

Gracchus argues that it is particularly disgraceful for a tribune to do so at the behest

of a consul, because the tribunate has been ‘bestowed on him for the sake of the

assistance and liberty of private citizens’ (mandatum pro auxilio ac libertate

priuatorum), not for abetting consular tyranny (39.5.2-4).325 Gracchus drives his point

home by contrasting the example set by his own selfless use of his tribunate to defend

his inimici, the Scipiones, with the negative example that Aburius will set, should he

persist in obstructing Nobilior’s triumph: he tells Aburius that ‘it will be committed

to tradition and posterity that in the same college one of the two tribunes of the plebs

set aside his own enmities in the public interest, while the other pursued someone

else’s, entrusted to him’ (39.5.5: fore ut memoriae ac posteritati mandetur eiusdem

collegii alterum ex duobus tribunis plebis suas inimicitias remisisse rei publicae,

alterum alienas et mandatas exercuisse).

The immediate purpose of Gracchus’ self-referential exemplum is of course to

convince Aburius to withdraw his objection to Nobilior’s triumph; and this it

achieves, forcing Aburius to withdraw, ‘overcome by these reprimands’ (39.5.6: his

uictus castigationibus). At the same time, however, it alerts the external audience –

Livy’s readers – to the more far-reaching and more profound didactic significance of

Gracchus’ tribunate. Gracchus himself anticipates that his exemplum (and that of

Aburius) will outlast the present circumstances and be committed to memoria and

posteritas. The truth of his prediction is of course confirmed by the AUC’s account of

325 Cf. Pittenger 2008: 206.

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the tribune’s part in the ‘Trials of the Scipiones’ in Book 38. The current episode,

however, plays an important rôle in the memorialisation of Gracchus’ tribunate,

because by showing how, when invoked as an exemplum, the memory of Gracchus’

tribunate convinced Aburius to desist from abusing his own, it illustrates the moral

weight that the exemplum ought to carry. So Gracchus’ argument both anticipates that

the memoria of his tribunate will endure, and demonstrates, for the reader no less than

for Aburius, its positive exemplary potential.

In addition to expanding the temporal parameters of Gracchus’ exemplum, the

allusion to the part he played in the ‘Trials of the Scipiones’ also expands the range

of qualities that his tribunate exemplifies beyond the immediate requirements of his

argument. Gracchus’ aim is to convince Aburius that using his position to further a

personal quarrel is bad, so he cites his efforts on behalf his inimici to show Aburius

the lack of self-interest that he ought to show in office. But the allusion also provokes

a more general consideration of the way Gracchus behaved as a tribune during the

‘trials’. By inviting the reader to reflect on Gracchus’ earlier activities, the allusion

does not simply recall that he set aside his personal interests to perform his tribunician

duties; in the context of the preceding sentence, with its pithy articulation of the

purpose of the tribunate, mandatum pro auxilio ac libertate priuatorum, non pro

consulari regno (39.5.4), it also illuminates Gracchus’ motives for doing so. It was

pointed out above that Gracchus’ defence of Scipio Africanus, in particular his decree

offering his auxilium at 38.52.10, reflects the original purpose for which the tribunate

was established. Gracchus’ explanation of a tribune’s mandate confirms that for him

the tribunate’s main function is its original one, i.e. the defence of the libertas of

priuati against tyrannical magistrates. So the description of the tribunate’s duties at

39.5.4 illuminates the actions recalled by the allusion at 39.5.5. It clarifies Gracchus’

motives for defending his inimici, and confirms that he has lived up to his precepts by

drawing attention to the fact that he has hitherto dedicated his tenure of the tribunate

entirely to defending libertas by upholding citizens’ right to auxilium. Conversely,

Gracchus’ reference to the help he offered the Scipio brothers lends his claim about

the tribunate’s function his own exemplary authority. Thus, Gracchus’ personal

exemplum at 38.5.5 not only demonstrates how a tribune ought to use his powers (i.e.

with no regard to private interests); it also supports his claim about what a tribune

should use his powers for: the defence of citizens’ libertas.

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The speech at 39.5.1-5 is a fitting conclusion to Livy’s account of Gracchus’

tribunate. By having the tribune present himself as an exemplum, the historian

elucidates and reiterates important lessons from the tribune’s previous appearances in

the ‘Trials of the Scipiones’. At the same time, making the tribune an exemplum in

his own lifetime highlights the extraordinary value of Gracchus as a model of

tribunician conduct, a point that is further emphasised by the immediate positive

influence the exemplum has on the outcome of the episode. And, in addition to

confirming the value of Gracchus’ previous conduct as tribune, his final appearance

adds to his already considerable didactic significance. It is quite obvious that Livy has

cast Gracchus in the same rôle he made him play in the preceding book. Once again,

Gracchus emerges as the defender of the tribunate against a colleague who is abusing

the office for personal reasons. The argument that Livy ascribes to Gracchus conveys

the tribune’s concern for the integrity of the institution, expressed as a desire to protect

the power and sacred laws, potestas et sacratae leges, of the collegium from the

disgrace Aburius will bring on it if he persists (39.5.2). This is consistent with the

portrayal of Gracchus’ concerns during the Scipionic trials, as is his understanding of

the primary function of the tribunate, expressed at 39.5.4, as argued above. The final

episode in Gracchus’ tribunate therefore reinforces his earlier characterisation,

reiterating his particular understanding of the magistracy and his commitment to his

duties as he understands them.

Ti. Gracchus embodies the best qualities of the tribunate as Livy presents it in

Books 21-45. Gracchus only ever uses his position to extend auxilium to those who

need it, and to counteract his colleagues’ abuse of their powers with his right of

intercessio. As the discussion in the preceding sections of this chapter has shown, the

tribunes perform a wider range of functions in the AUC, and their ability to legislate,

in particular, is depicted as indispensable to the governance of Rome in Livy’s third

to fifth decades. But tribunician legislation is also often a cause of discordia.

Gracchus only uses powers intended to defend the libertas of Roman citizens; thus,

he consistently fulfils the original purpose of the tribunate. In contrast to his

opponents and fellow tribunes the Petillii and Aburius, he acts not out of any personal

interest or obligation – indeed, Livy stresses his personal animosity towards the

Scipiones. Gracchus simply behaves in a manner appropriate to a tribune, using his

powers of auxilium and intercessio to uphold the libertas of individual citizens. He is

also mindful of his duty to the people in general, for in defending the Scipiones from

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shameful and ungrateful mistreatment at the hands of their persecutors he is

consciously maintaining the honour of the populus Romanus. Admittedly, Gracchus

does refuse to bow to the moral authority of his colleagues’ unanimity concerning

Africanus’ appeal at 38.52.8-9 and concerning Asiaticus’ arrest at 38.60.3. In the

AUC, defiant individualism of this sort among tribunes usually generates discordia.

But, as argued above, Gracchus’ defiance of his colleagues is motivated by his

dedication to the duties of his office, not by self-interest. For this reason his defiance

is not total: he defers to his colleagues’ judgement concerning the fine to be exacted

from Asiaticus, objecting only to the unbecoming imprisonment of a Roman hero.

Gracchus’ selflessness in exercising his powers is the reason that, unlike other

tribunes who defy their colleagues, his refusal to accept the college’s consensus

resolves political conflict instead of exacerbating it. And although Gracchus is never

depicted as acting at the behest of the senate, he nevertheless acts in accordance with

its desires on each occasion. He therefore demonstrates that is it possible for a tribune

of the plebs to fulfil his obligations to individual citizens and to the populus, while at

the same time, independently and of his own accord, fulfilling the wishes of the

senate. As such, Gracchus instantiates the concordia between senate and tribunate

that prevails in Books 21-45, and reinforces the benefits of this concordia for the res

publica.

Livy’s treatment of the tribunate has a parallel in the views attributed to the

character of Marcus in Cicero’s De legibus. The discussion of the tribunate in Leg.

3.19-26 opposes the conservative attitude towards the magistracy voiced by Marcus

with what might be called an abolitionist stance presented by Quintus Cicero, an

entirely negative attitude towards the magistracy that favours a radical curtailment of

its powers. 326 Quintus is uncompromising in his hatred of the office regards as

‘pestilential’, ‘in sedition and for sedition born’ (Leg. 3.19: nam mihi quidem pestifera

uidetur, quippe quae in seditione et ad seditionem nata sit). He sets out an invidious

history of the tribunate, highlighting its seditious origins and its worst representatives

from C. Flaminius to the Gracchi to Clodius, and concludes by approving Sulla’s

efforts to limit the harm the tribunes could do by restricting all their powers except

that of auxilium. 327 Marcus’ reply (Leg. 3.23-6) is more balanced than Quintus’

326 See Dyck 2004: 492-3. 327 Cic. Leg. 3.19-22; see Dyck 2004: 493-503.

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diatribe, for, although it advocates the retention of the tribunate in its current form, it

recognises the negative as well as the positive aspects of the office. In fact, after

conceding that there is something inherently ‘evil’, malum, in the power of the

tribunate, Marcus pronounces that evil inseparable from the good purposes for which

the tribunate was founded.328 This, in effect, rejects Quintus’ view that reform along

Sullan lines is preferable as based on a false premise – that tribunicia potestas can be

stripped of its potential to cause harm without impairing its potential to do good.

Marcus argues that this good consists in tempering uis populi: he grants that the

Gracchi and many other individual tribunes have stirred up the people, but stresses

that, on the whole, the tribunate has secured the concordia of the state, putting an end

to seditiones and protecting the ruling order from popular inuidia by ensuring that the

plebs feels no need to resort to dangerous struggles, periculosae contentiones, for its

rights.329

Andrew R. Dyck observes that Marcus’ response to his brother’s recitation of

the crimes of individual tribunes, specifically the duo Gracchi (Leg. 3.24), is ‘based

on sinking’ the individual troublemakers ‘into the mass of tribunes and thus diluting

their significance’, and then adding ‘palliative factors’, i.e. describing the overall

effects of the tribunate in mitigating plebeian discontent.330 In Books 21-45 Livy takes

much the same approach to the tribunate. There is some evidence that Livy

deliberately downplayed certain episodes of tribunician dissension, but he did not shy

away from it altogether. Like Marcus in the De Legibus, Livy acknowledges that

disturbances caused by individual tribunes are a fairly regular feature of Roman

politics, but his narrative overwhelms these negative instances with a much larger

body of cases – some strikingly positive, many others quite unremarkable – of

tribunes who contribute constructively to the running of the state. Livy’s depiction of

the tribunate in Books 21-45 does not suggest that the res publica would benefit from

the reduction of tribunicia potestas. On the contrary, the tribunate emerges as an

integral component in the prevailing concordia, a willing and typically subordinate

partner to the senate in the government of Rome – which is just what Marcus would

328 Cic. Leg. 3.23: ego enim fateor in ista ipsa potestate inesse quiddam mali, sed bonum quod est

quaesitum in ea sine isto malo non haberemus (‘For I grant that there is in your [tribunician] power

itself something evil; but we cannot have the good that is aimed at in that power without that evil of yours’). 329 Cic. Leg. 3.23-4; see Dyck 2004: 505-9. 330 Dyck 2004: 508-9.

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have Quintus believe in the De legibus. Marcus suggests that the tribunate allows the

people to have real libertas while inducing them to yield to auctoritas principum.331

Livy would probably have agreed at this point in his history, since his tribunes, while

protective of libertas populi, generally yield to auctortitas principum themselves.

The concordia that generally prevails between the tribunate and senate in

Livy’s third to fifth decades is a key feature of his mature Roman state, which

distinguishes it from the nascent libera res publica of the earlier books. In the later

books, the tribunate no longer stands in opposition to the senate. Individual tribunes

do, of course, continue to cause trouble in various ways, and, as the next chapter will

show, Livy never allows his readers to forget the tribunate’s potential to generate

political discord. But individual cases of tribunician misbehaviour notwithstanding,

the overall impression Books 21-45 give is of the tribunate as a fully integrated and

useful component of the Roman state, one that works in concert with the other

magistrates and defers to the senate for the good of the res publica.

2.3 Oratory in Roman politics

Oratory has always loomed large in modern perceptions of the Roman Republic, but

in recent years it has come to be recognised as one of the defining features of

Republican political culture, essential to understanding both the practice and the

ideology of politics. Much of the day-to-day business of politics was conducted

through speeches. 332 At meetings of the senate matters of public interest, from

legislation to war to foreign policy, were introduced and discussed by means of

speeches, with the presiding magistrate calling on each senator in turn to present his

opinion on the matter.333 Outside of these closed sessions, oratory was the focus of

the public meetings known as contiones, held in the Comitium or elsewhere around

the Forum, at which magistrates introduced themselves after their election to office,

read out senatus consulta and the reports of commanders in the field, and proposed

331 Cic. Leg. 3.25; Dyck 2004: 509-10. 332 The occasions for and contexts of oratory on political matters are discussed by Fantham 1997: 111-

22; Lintott 1999: 42-6; 75-82; Alexander 2007. 333 For overviews of senatorial discussions and oratory, see Bonnefond-Coudry 1989: 452-520; Lintott

1999: 75-82; Ramsey 2007. Of course, not every senator would have taken the opportunity to speak at length, since it was sufficient to register agreement with a previous speaker; on the norms and extent

of participation in these discussions, see Ryan 1998, esp. 72-95 on the right to speak of the so-called

pedarii.

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and debated legislation. 334 Trials too were often fora for politically-charged

oratory. 335 A number of important studies have shown that, as well as being

inseparable from the practice of politics, oratory reflected and reinforced the ideology

at the heart of Roman political culture. The contiones were particularly important in

this regard, since it was here that the political élite enaged directly with an audience

that (regardless of its actual composition) represented the wider political community,

the populus. 336 Contional oratory was therefore an important channel of

communication between élite and non-élite – albeit an asymmetrical channel, which

unlike the Athenian ekklesia did not permit the audience to respond or contribute

freely, since all speakers had to be called to the Rostra by the presiding magistrate –

and it has been identified as one of the means by which the ruling order articulated its

right to govern, thereby affirming the broad ideological consensus on which the res

publica was founded.337 In a seminal study of republican contiones, Robert Morstein-

Marx identified a set of tropes typical of the rhetoric employed at public meetings,

which he identified as the basis of the ‘cultural hegemony’ exercised by the senatorial

aristocracy.338 He found that contional oratory was based on appealing to the rights

and interests of the populus, regardless of the speaker’s political disposition or his

stance on that matter at issue (indeed, this appears to have been true even when the

orator’s position was, at least from a modern perspective, obviously inimical to

popular interests). But while contional rhetoric emphasised popular rights and power,

334 The rôle of public oratory and contiones in Roman politics has been a subject of much scholarly debate since Fergus Millar (1984) stressed that legislation was shaped by ‘speeches, which were made

not only, or even primarily, in the ‘sacred Senate’, but in the open space of the Forum, before the ever-

available crowd’; e.g. Millar 1986; 1998; Pina Polo 1989; 1995; 1996; Hölkeskamp 1995; 2004: 219-

56; Laser 1997: 138-82; Fantham 2000; Mouritsen 2001: 38-89; 2017: 72-94; Morstein-Marx 2004;

Tan 2008; Yakobson 2004; 2014; see also the sections on contiones in Sumi 2005 and the relevant

chapters in Steel and van der Blom 2013. For an overview of the evolution of recent scholarship on

contiones see Mouritsen 2017: 61-7. The term contio could also be used of written accounts of the

speeches given at public meetings: see Mouritsen 2013. 335 See Gruen 1968. 336 On attendance and the composition of contiones, see Mouritsen 2001: 18-25, 38-89. Mouritsen’s

argument that attendance of the contiones was extremely low is generally accepted, but the composition

of contional audiences is still debated: Mouritsen argues that attendance was largely limited to the

economically well-off who possessed free time, occasionally supplemented by hired crowds; Jehne

2006: 226-32, however, following Mommsen 1854-5: 2.94, maintains that there was a distinct plebs

contionalis made up of urban citizens who regularly attended meetings. 337 The study of the ways in which the senatorial éite communicated, and so maintained, its political

dominance has been pioneered by Hölkeskamp, who places contiones and oratory alongside triumphs and pompa funebris as consensus-building spectacles: 1995; 2004: 219-56; 2010: 72-3, 102-3; 2013. 338 Morstein-Marx 2004: 204-78, esp. 230-40. He has since modified his views on the Roman élite’s

‘cultural hegemony’: Morstein-Marx 2013.

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it did not challenge the traditional authority of the senate as an institution: instead,

attacks on members of the political élite were framed as opposition to tyrannical

cliques or to a corrupt and degenerate nobilitas.339 Morstein-Marx described this

complex of rhetorical tropes as ‘contional ideology’, and noted that it essentially

reflects the broad consensus on which the Republican political order was based.340 It

has long been recognised that this consensus rested upon the twin pillars of auctoritas

senatus, senatorial authority, and libertas populi, popular freedom and sovereignty,

both of which were appealed to (to varying degrees) by orators addressing public

audiences.341 M. A. Robb, however, has pointed out that appeals to libertas populi

were no more confined to contiones than appeals to auctoritas senatus were to

sessions of the senate.342 The rhetoric of senatorial debates and the law courts drew

on the same ideology as the rhetoric of the public meetings; only the emphasis placed

on the different elements of this ideology varied, according to the context, audience,

or the particulars of an argument. Oratory therefore both reflected and articulated the

core values of the res publica. In so doing, oratory reinforced the political consensus.

2.3.1 Oratory in Livian historiography

Oratory was also a prominent feature of classical historiography.343 Herodotus and

Thucydides, perhaps in imitation of epic poetry, made use of direct and indirect

discourse in their narratives by attributing speeches to historical figures. Their heirs

in the genre followed their example, and by Livy’s day the Romans too had long been

following this convention.344 Like their Greek counterparts, Roman historians used

339 Morstein-Marx 2004: 230-40; 2013: 42-3; followed by Yakobson 2014: 290, 293-300. 340 Morstein-Marx 2004: 239; 2013: 43. 341 The centrality of senatus auctoritas and populi libertas to the rhetoric of Roman politics is

recognised and discussed with characteristic cynicism by Syme 1939: 152-6. 342 Robb 2010: 69-93. 343 Marincola 2007 provides a concise but edifying overview of the uses of oratory in classical

historiography. 344 Exactly when Roman writers adopted this convention cannot be known given the fragmentary state

of early Roman historiography. Cato’s Origines contain the earliest extant examples of oratory

embedded in a Roman historical narrative, but these were written versions of his own speeches Pro

Rhodiensibus and Contra Galbam: see Cornell FRH 1.213-14 and Briscoe FRH 1.262, with FRH 5

T12-13 and the corresponding fragments F87-93 and F104-7. Peter’s conjecture (HRR 1.ccxviii) that

Coelius Antipater (fl. late second century) was the first Roman historian to write full-length speeches

enjoys wide currency, but should not be taken for granted. In fact, Coelius’ monograph on the

Hannibalic War is merely the earliest Roman historical text from which several excerpts from longer speeches survive; it seems likely that earlier writers working in the Greek tradition, such as Fabius

Pictor, composed speeches for their histories too: see Briscoe FRH 1.262. It is therefore possible that

oratory had been a feature of Roman historiography since its beginning.

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speech in a variety of contexts, including the depiction of politics. The works of

Sallust, written about a decade before Livy started working on the AUC, demonstrate

the versatility of speech in contemporary Roman historiography. They contain private

dialogues between individuals, speeches given by generals before battle, and political

oratory and debates, which, although inspired by Greek models, have been suitably

adapted to the Roman political contexts of the senate and the contio.345

There is therefore nothing exceptional about Livy’s inclusion of oratory in his

depiction of politics. Political oratory was a commonplace of the historical genre, and

as such its mere occurrence in Livy cannot in itself be interpreted as a reflection of or

a comment on the rôle of oratory in Roman politics. The political speeches in the AUC

perform many of the same narrative and dramatic functions as speeches in other

contexts. The change of pace and perspective occasioned by political oratory

contributes to the uariatio of the narrative, while the shift in perspective, from

omniscient narrator to internal speaker, can provide a more immediate, more emotive

evocation of historical circumstances, heightening the narrative’s dramatic impact.

Similarly, a speech can enhance the characterisation of an historical figure by letting

the speaker’s own words convey his personality. Quintilian was particularly

impressed by Livy’s ability to evoke situations and personalities in his contiones:

reflecting on the historian’s best qualities, he remarks that

in contionibus supra quam enarrari potest eloquentem ita quae dicuntur

omnia cum rebus, tum personis accommodata sunt (Inst. 10.1.101)

in his contiones he is eloquent beyond description, so well are all the

things said fitted to both circumstances and characters[.]

The historian would have been gratified by this praise, for he no doubt aimed to please

his readers by the eloquence of his contiones and other orations.346 His political

speeches contribute to the creation of the dramatic and compelling account of Roman

history that the AUC was intended to be.

345 Interestingly, of the two speeches that Cato is known to have including in his Origines, one, the Pro

Rhodiensibus, was delivered in the senate, the other, Contra Galbam, at a contio. 346 As Marincola 1997: 112; 140 notes, Livy’s wry comment about successive generations of historians

taking up the pen in the belief that that they can write more eloquently than their predecessors (praef. 2) does not explicitly indicate that this is one of Livy’s purposes for composing his history, but nor

does it rule out that interpretation. The classic study of the technical and literary qualities of Livy’s

speeches is Ullman 1929.

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But the AUC was meant to edify as well as to entertain, its speeches no less

than the rest of the narrative. Livy’s use of speech as a medium for moral instruction

has been explored in some detail recently, notably by Jane Chaplin. Building on

Joseph B. Solodow’s and Andrew Feldherr’s analyses of the AUC’s use of internal

audiences, Chaplin shows that Livy employs speeches to inform and shape his

readers’ interpretations of the exempla cited in those speeches. 347 Since speeches

(particularly those in oratio recta) place the reader in a similar position to that of the

audience within the text, the responses of the internal audience to a speech can guide

the responses of the external audience. This is true even of cases in which a speech’s

audience ignores good counsel or succumbs to bad advice or demagogic

manipulation, since the external audience has the opportunity to learn from the

internal one’s mistake from its superior vantage point outside of the narrative. 348

Thus, in addition to its aesthetic and narrative functions, oratory in Livy has an

important didactic rôle. And given that they bear directly on citizens’ behaviour in

public affairs, it is to be expected that Livy’s political speeches, too, have a didactic

function.

The next two chapters will show that individual political speeches in the AUC

certainly do offer instruction on the sort of civic behaviours citizens ought to emulate

or avoid. Whether these speeches, taken together, offer any general reflections on the

rôle of political oratory in the res publica as Livy conceived it, or demonstrate any

engagement with the historical rôle of oratory in Roman politics, is another matter

entirely. As ever, the chronology of Livy’s life and the absence of evidence of his

involvement in politics raises doubts about his knowledge and understanding of

Republican oratory and its political significance. Morstein-Marx sums up the problem

succinctly in his justification for discounting Livy’s contiones as evidence for

historical practice: ‘Livy’s direct knowledge of the realities of late-Republican

political life in the city is suspect, and in any case the contiones in the extant portion

of his text belong so far in the distant past that the relationship between his recreation

and his own present is highly problematic.’349

On closer examination, however, the relationship between Republican reality

and the AUC’s recreation of it is revealed to be less problematic than might appear at

347 Solodow 1979: 257-9; Feldherr 1998; Chaplin 2000, esp. 50-105. 348 Chaplin 2000: 103-5. 349 Morstein-Marx 2004: 30-1.

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first glance. To address Morstein-Marx’s last point first, Livy’s approach to contiones

and other speeches can be reconstructed fairly easily from the evidence in the

surviving books. It is safe to say that the speeches in the AUC are not generally based

on contemporary records. It is doubtful whether any speeches survived – if, indeed,

any were ever recorded – from the period described in Livy’s first decade, but copies

of speeches attributed to prominent figures from the years covered in the other extant

books do appear to have been available, and at least some of these were authentic. 350

In general, however, the historian seems to have followed ancient historiographical

convention and avoided reproducing the material he found in these documents, since

‘to reproduce another’s words at any length not only deprived an historian of the

opportunity of literary challenge but also…infringed generic conventions of stylistic

homogeneity.’351 This is certainly the impression that Livy gives on the occasions

when the orations of Cato the Elder were available to him.352 In two cases, instead of

quoting or even paraphrasing the content of Cato’s speeches, Livy simply notes that

the originals are extant, implicitly referring his readers to them.353 In a third case Livy

350 The elder Cato published a large number of his own speeches, and these appear to have been readily

available in the first century. Malcovati (ORF4 8) identifies references to seventy-nine separate

orations, which gives some idea of the extent of the ancient Catonian corpus. It may well have been

quite a lot more extensive, since although none of the surviving fragments pre-dates Cato’s consulate,

Cornelius Nepos (Cat. 3.2) claims that the orator had been composing speeches since his youth (ab

adulescentia confecit orationes). Other texts purporting to be mid-Republican speeches were also in

circulation, e.g. the copy of Q. Caecilius Metellus’ laudatio delivered at the funeral of his father Lucius

c. 221 that was used by Pliny the Elder (HN 7.139-40 = ORF4 6.1). Some of these, however, may have

been forgeries. Livy himself expresses doubt about the authenticity of speeches ascribed to Scipio

Africanus and Ti. Sempronius Gracchus (38.56.5-7). 351 Woodman 2010: 306; cf. Miller 1956: 305; Walsh 1961: 219-20. Cato is the only definite exception to this rule among Roman historians, and a partial exception at that, since as noted above the oratio

scripta that he included in the fifth book of his Origines (Liv. 45.25.3) and the other that he inserted

into the work shortly before his death (Cic. Brut. 89) were both his own: Woodman 2010: 306; Cornell

FRH 1.213-14. Cicero’s reference to an oration of Q. Metellus in C. Fannius’ Annales (Brut. 81: contra

Ti. Gracchum exposita est [sc. oratio] in C. Fanni annalibus) can probably be accepted as evidence

that Fannius too incorporated authentic speeches in his histories, but the precise implications of

Cicero’s Latin are contested, and some take it to suggest abridgement or even fabrication: see Douglas

1966: 71; Gratwick 1982: 151; Woodman 2010: 306 n. 33; Cornell FRH 1.249. A comparison between

the record of the Emperor Claudius’ oration inscribed on the Lyons Tablet (CIL 13.1668 = ILS 212)

with the address Tacitus puts in his mouth at Ann. 11.24 suggests that, when an historian did wish to

recount an oration that was already available in written form, he drew on the original to compose a

version of it in his own distinct style and in line with his historiographical agenda: Miller 1956: 305-6

and passim; Griffin 1982; Woodman 2010: 306. Cf. the single ‘Philippic’ that Cassius Dio gives Cicero

at 45.18-47, which evinces a debt to a number of the original speeches without resembling any one of

them in particular: see Fischer 1870: 1-28 (arguing that Dio draws directly on the Latin original); Haupt

1884: 687-92 (who proposes the use of an intermediate Greek source); Millar 1964: 54-5; Burden-

Strevens 2015: 58-70. 352 Briscoe 1981: 39-40; Haimson Lushkov 2010: 119-20. 353 38.54.11 (Cato’s speech in support of the bill to investigate the embezzlement of money taken from

Antiochus); 45.25.3 (Cato’s speech Pro Rhodiensibus).

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does provide a brief summary of part of a speech by Cato, one of several acerbae

orationes given during the latter’s famous censorship that, according to the historian,

were still in existence (39.42.6-7). This citation is occasioned by a discrepancy in

Livy’s sources. Among other charges (which the historian does not relate), Cato’s

speech included an account of L. Quinctius Flamininus’ murder of a Gallic deserter,

which Livy sets alongside the slightly different version of the crime given by Valerius

Antias (39.42.8-43.5). The only other instance in which Livy reproduces material

from a published speech in any detail also results from a problem with his evidence.

Among the many deficiencies and conflicts in his sources for the ‘Trials of the

Scipios’, the historian highlights two seemingly contradictory orations attributed to

Scipio Africanus and Ti. Sempronius Gracchus (38.56.5).354 Livy finds the latter so

troublesome that he admits that an altogether different account of the circumstances

surrounding the prosecution of L. Scipio is necessary to reconcile his narrative to this

speech.355 To illustrate his point, he summarises at least part of Gracchus’ oration,

which does indeed differ markedly from the speech Livy attributes to him only a few

chapters before (38.56.8-13).356 In this case, as in the matter of Cato’s invective

against L. Flamininus, Livy draws on a recorded speech to illustrate a problem with

his sources. In the absence of any specific evidentiary need, however, it is reasonable

to assume that the historian deliberately avoided incorporating material from

published speeches into his narrative, as he did in the case of Cato’s other speeches.

The AUC does include one long speech in oratio recta by Cato, a defence of the lex

Oppia at a contio during Cato’s consulate (34.2-4), but this is widely agreed to be an

invention of Livy’s.357 Although the speech seems to contain Catonian elements, its

style is distinctly Livian, and it serves the purposes of Livy’s narrative rather better

than an authentic oration is likely to have done (in contrast to the historian’s

354 Livy refers only briefly to the Scipio oration, noting that the index gives M. Naevius as the name of

Scipio’s accuser, while the speech itself refers to the prosecutor only as nebulo and nugator: 38.56.6.

Livy’s comment about the two orations, si modo ipsorum sunt quae feruntur (38.56.5), expresses some

doubt about their authenticity. Livy’s doubts were justified, for the speech attributed to Gracchus

should probably be dated to Caesar’s dictatura perpetua by its reference to Scipio reproaching the

people for wanting to make him perpetuus consul et dictator (38.56.12), as Mommsen 1879: 502-10

suggests; see Briscoe 2008: 200-1 for a discussion of the oration’s date. 355 38.56.8: alia tota serenda fabula est Gracchi orationi conveniens… See Haimson Lushkov 2010:

120-3 on Livy’s difficulties in dealing with these scriptae orationes. 356 Cf. Livy’s previous account of Gracchus’ defence of the Scipiones: 38.52.10-53.4. 357 E.g. Briscoe 1981: 39; Levene 2000: 184; Woodman 2010: 306-7. The hortatory address that Cato

gives before battle at 34.13.5-9 can be discounted because, as Briscoe (ibid.) remarks, it is ‘purely

conventional’.

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difficulties with the speeches ascribed to Scipio and Gracchus): it articulates the

corrupting power of wealth and extravagance and defends traditional morality and

self-restraint through the appropriate figure of Cato, and simultaneously conveys a

sense of the man’s famously stern character and his moralising rhetoric.358 Moreover,

there are no references in any other classical text to Cato giving a speech about the

lex Oppia; in fact, it has been suggested that Livy chose this occasion to compose a

speech for Cato precisely because there was no such speech in the Catonian corpus. 359

Regardless of whether this argument ex silentio is accepted – indeed regardless of

whether an authentic oration on the lex Oppia was available – it is clear that Cato’s

speech in Book 34 is substantially Livy’s own creation.

It seems that Livy did not, as a rule, model his characters’ orations on

published speeches. His use of the speeches attributed to historical figures by his

predecessors is more complicated (and, as ever, made more so by the paucity of

evidence), but here too his methods can be reconstructed fairly easily using the

remains of one of his sources. Enough of Polybius’ work survives to permit instructive

comparisons to be drawn with Books 21-45, for which the Megalopolitan’s histories

were a major source.360 On several occasions in these books Livy can be shown not

only to have drawn his information from Polybius, but to have modelled his narrative,

including his speeches and dialogues, on the Greek’s. In many cases, however, Livy

also alters his source material. Often these alterations are purely technical, with Livy

rearranging Polybian material to conform to the structural conventions of formal

rhetoric.361 Sometimes he makes slight embellishments for dramatic effect, as in the

case of Livy’s version of the exchange between T. Quinctius Flamininus and Philip

V upon the latter’s arrival at Nicaea.362 The substance of the dialogue is the same as

358 Cf. Briscoe 1981: 42. A number of analyses have concluded that the speech incorporates elements

of genuine Catonian rhetoric, although the nature of those elements is disputed: Paschkowski 1966:

107-25, 248-67 argues that the speech imitates Cato’s style of rhetoric; Tränkle 1971: 9-16 denies any

stylistic resemblance, but suggests that it does reflect authentic Catonian themes and arguments;

Briscoe 1981: 40-2 too is critical of Pachkowski’s analysis, but allows that specific sections and

phrases may imitate Cato (see his comments on 34.2.13-3.3; 34.3.9; 34.4.2, 3, 14 on pp. 48-51, 53-4)

while stressing that the overall style is distinctly Livian; Levene 2000: 184 suggests that the verbal and

thematic similarities between this speech and that of the younger Cato in Sall. Cat. 52.2-36 may

indicate that both historians modelled their speeches on Catonian material. 359 Briscoe 1981: 39, 42. 360 The most detailed study of Livy’s use of Polybius is Tränkle 1977; see also Tränkle 1972; Briscoe

1993. Levene 2010: 126-63 has recently demonstrated, contra Tränkle 1977: 193-241, that Livy also drew on Polybius throughout his third decade as well as for the later books. 361 See Walsh 1961: 221, with examples at n. 2. 362 Liv. 32.32.12-16; cf. Polyb. 18.1.6-9

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it is in Polybius, but Livy presents it in oratio recta to heighten the vividness of the

encounter; he also expands on Philip’s initial reply slightly to reflect the king’s

character: ‘To this he replied in a proud and regal spirit: “I fear none except the

immortal gods…” ’ (32.32.14: ad hoc ille superbo et regio animo: neminem equidem

timeo praeter deos immortales).363

In other cases, however, Livy’s additions are more significant. Polybius has

L. Aemilius Paullus denounce Rome’s armchair generals for their frivolous chatter

about the conduct of the Macedonian war, which, Paullus argues, does nothing to

advance the common good, but often undermines it along with the authority of the

commanders whom they criticise (29.1.1-3). In Livy too Paullus gives a speech on the

same topic, on the occasion of his profectio in 168 (44.22.1-15). Livy’s version is

longer and is presented in oratio recta, but the similarities in theme and a number of

close verbal parallels suggest that it draws directly on the Polybian original.364 As

with the dialogue between Philip and Flamininus, most of Livy’s expansions on

Polybius are aesthetic, embellishing but adding little of substance to Paullus’

admonishments. Because Polybius’ version of the speech exists only as an excerpt the

extent of Livy’s embellishments is difficult to gauge. But one part of the speech in

the AUC that is almost certainly original represents a more substantial addition to the

Greek’s version: after Paullus argues that idle talk at Rome can undermine a

commander’s efforts in the field (as he does in Polybius), he illustrates his point with

a reference to the uncommon fortitude of Q. Fabius Maximus Verrucosus in the face

of slander.

‘neque enim omnes tam firmi et constantis animi contra aduersum

rumorem esse possunt <quam> Q. Fabius fuit, qui suum imperium

minui per uanitatem populi maluit quam secunda fama male rem

publicam gerere (44.22.10).’

‘For not everyone can be as firm and steadfast in spirit in the face of

hostile gossip as Q. Fabius was, who preferred his imperium to be

diminished by the fickleness of the people rather than conduct public

affairs badly for the sake of renown.’

363 See Briscoe 1973: 230; Tränkle 1977: 121-2. 364 It is possible that Livy’s version is based only indirectly on Polybius, via an intermediate annalistic

source, or that both authors’ draw independently on the same earlier edition of the speech. However,

the close resemblance of Livy’s syntax to Polybius’ at several points is more easily explained by a

direct relationship between the two: see Nissen 1863: 263-4; Briscoe 2012: 531; cf. Walbank 1979:

361.

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The use of an exemplum by a speaker, especially an exemplum that alludes to matters

described earlier in the AUC, is a distinctly Livian device which strongly suggests

that this sentence is his own original addition to Polybius’ version. And despite its

brevity, the reference to Fabius Maximus significantly enriches the speech. Many of

Livy’s readers would have recognised the allusion, signalled by the word rumor, to

Ennius’ famous description of Fabius’ achievement:

unus homo nobis cuntando restituit rem.

noenum rumores ponebat ante salutem (Enn. Ann. fr 363-4 Sk.).365

One man by delaying restored our state to us.

For he did not put slanders before security.

These hexameters were apparently well known in Livy’s lifetime.366 As such, Fabius

was probably a byword for resilience in the face of rumor, and hence a natural choice

of exemplar for the quality that Paullus is extolling. (Paullus’ reference to the

cunctator’s willingness to sacrifice his reputation for the public good also

demonstrates the truth of Ennius’ next line: ‘So now afterwards and evermore the

man’s glory stands out’ (Enn. Ann. fr. 365 Sk.: ergo postque magisque uiri nunc

gloria claret). The reference to Fabius also recalls Livy’s own account of the attacks

incurred by the dictator for his delaying strategy in Book 22. Livy represents these

attacks as a series of public speeches by demagogues, which succeed in undermining

public confidence in Fabius’ strategy and ultimately led to the disastrous

confrontation with Hannibal at Cannae (22.14-38). This narrative (which will be

examined in detail in Chapter 4.2) demonstrates the dangers posed by unbridled

public discourse in times of war, which makes Paullus’ reference to Fabius

particularly apt in the context of his speech. These inter- and intratextual resonances

amplify the exemplary power of the reference. At the same time, the Fabius

exemplum, with the specific cultural associations it would have possessed for Livy’

audience, gives a particularly Roman significance to the general lesson that Polybius’

Paullus offers. The effect is not only to make Paullus’ argument more pertinent to

Livy’s Roman readers, but also in a sense to claim the wisdom of the argument for

365 See Stanton 1971: 53; Skutsch 1985: 530, who notes that Livy’s echo actually disregards the first

line of the fragment 366 The first line, at least, is quoted by Cicero (Att. 2.19.2) and paraphrased by Vergil (Aen. 6.846),

Ovid (Fast. 2.242), Augustus (Suet. Tib. 21.5), and Livy himself (30.26.9). Although the full ‘set’ of

three lines concerning Fabius’ achievement, Enn. Ann. fr. 363-5 Sk., is quoted by only by Cicero

(twice: Sen. 10; Off. 1.84), the verses were presumably familiar to educated Romans; see Stanton 1971:

52-6; Elliot 2009: 533; Roller 2011: 182.

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the Roman nation. Polybius’ version of the speech articulates a universal argument

against the harm done by unguarded talk and slander. Livy’s version, however, may

be taken to suggest that the ability to recognise and resist the dangers of rumor, an

ability demonstrated first by Fabius Maximus, then by Paullus, is a characteristically

(if not necessarily uniquely) Roman virtue. Here, as elsewhere, Livy ‘Romanises’

Polybian material with the addition of a Roman exemplum. Finally, the consul’s

recollection of Fabius’ mistreatment by the people contributes to Livy’s depiction of

Paullus as an exemplary figure in his own right, by foreshadowing Paullus’ similar

mistreatment the following book. After his right to a triumph is challenged by his

soldiers and by a rabble-rousing tribune of the plebs, Paullus is defended in a long

oration by M. Servilius (45.35-9). In his defence of the discipline imposed by Paullus

on his army, Servilius reminds his audience about M. Minucius and Fabius Maximus,

the most recent and memorable exemplars of ‘ “what disasters were suffered through

the ambitio of generals” ’ and ‘ “what victories were accomplished through sternness

of command” ’ respectively.367 Like Paullus at 44.22.10, Servilius invokes Fabius as

the epitome of a commander who puts military necessity ahead of his own reputation;

his indirect comparison of Paullus with the cunctator affirms that Paullus also

embodies this Fabian virtue. Thus, Paullus’ reference to Fabius establishes a thematic

link between the two figures from the very beginning of the sequence of events that

will culminate in the debate over his triumph. This single sentence reflects Livy’s

ability to expand beyond the thematic limits of his source material, and it is followed

by a section which has no parallel in Polybius. At 44.22.11-13 Paullus invites advice

from experienced soldiers and knowledgeable people who are willing to accompany

him into the field. Unlike the Fabius exemplum, there is nothing distinctly Livian

about this section of Paullus’ speech, so it is not impossible that something similar

appeared in Polybius’ original version but was omitted by the excerptor (certainly, it

367 45.37.11-12: ‘haec sicut ad militum animos stimulandos aliquem aculeum habent, qui parum

licentiae parum auaritiae suae inseruitum censent, ita apud populum Romanum nihil ualuissent, qui

ut uetera atque audita a parentibus suis non repetat, quae ambitione imperatorum clades acceptae

sint, quae seueritate imperii uictoriae partae, proximo certe Punico bello quid inter M. Minucium

magistrum equitum et Q. Fabium Maximum dictatorem interfuerit meminit’ (‘Just as such words have

a certain sting to goad the hearts of soldiers, who rate [Paullus] too little devoted to their licentiousness,

their greed, so they would have no effect on the Roman people, who need not revisit the old stories

they heard from their parents, of what disasters were suffered through the ambitio of generals, of what

victories were accomplished through sternness of command, when it surely remembers what a

difference there was between M. Minucius the magister equitum and Q. Fabius Maximus the dictator

in the recent Punic War’).

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is the sort of practical advice that Polybius favours). On the other hand, the preceding

reference to Fabius and his rôle in Book 22 also recalls the cunctator’s exchange with

the speaker’s father in that book. At 22.39 Fabius advises the elder L. Aemilius

Paullus on the challenges he will face and the safest strategy to adopt on the imminent

campaign against Hannibal. It is possible that the consul of 168’s receptiveness to

military advice, if it is original to Livy, is intended to recall his father’s.

These examples show that Livy’s use of Polybius as a source for his orations

is flexible and varied: at times, Livy follows Polybius closely, even mimicking his

syntax; at others, he adds to the original material, and these additions themselves vary

in substance and importance. Livy’s practice is not specific to his use of Polybius’

speeches, but reflects his relationship with the Greek as a source in general. Older

scholarship tended to regard Livy as more or less faithful to Polybius where the latter

was the main source for the AUC, making only insubstantial additions to the original

material. But as Livy’s extension to Paullus’ oration at 44.22.10 (and perhaps

44.22.11-13) shows, even minor additions can have a profound significance for the

understanding of a speech. And more recently attention has been drawn to the way

Livy often challenges Polybius directly, either in his account or in his interpretation

of events, even while drawing on the Greek history to construct his own. Again,

seemingly minor changes can have a major impact on the depiction of history. On

other occasions, however, Livy’s challenges to Polybius are more obvious. The L.

Aemilius Paullus who was consul in 216 is given a long speech in Polybius 3.108.6-

109.12, in which he exhorts his troops and outlines the reasons the Romans have to

hope for victory in the imminent campaign against Hannibal. In Livy, however, the

consul gives only a short address at a contio, in oratio obliqua, and in it he offers only

a warning (22.38.8-12). There are no words of encouragement here, indeed Paullus is

described as speaking ‘more truthful[ly] than pleasing[ly] to the people’ (22.38.8:

uerior quam gratior populo) as he adumbrates the perils of entrusting the campaign

to his inexperienced and audacious colleague C. Varro; the only hope he can offer is

that a campaign conducted caute ac consulte, ‘carefully and with deliberation’

(22.38.11) will turn out better than on conducted with temeritas, which as hitherto

proved both ‘stupid and unfortunate’ (22.38.12). Livy’s speech is completely

incompatible with Polybius’, because at this point Livy’s narrative has diverged from

that of Polybius. In the Megalopolitan’s history all are eager to meet Hannibal in

battle, including the senate and Paullus, as his oration demonstrates. In Livy, however,

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the Cannae campaign forms part of an extended narrative that began with Minucius’

challenge to Fabius Maximus, a narrative designed to illustrate (among other things)

the wisdom and necessity of the Fabian strategy (see Chapter 4.2). In Livy, then, the

Romans’ reckless eagerness for battle is attributed to the demagoguery of Fabius’

critics, the most important of whom is C. Varro, whose consulate leads directly to the

disaster at Cannae – the ultimate vindication of Fabius’ cautious approach. In

Polybius too Varro is responsible for the Roman defeat, but there the defeat is the

result of the consul’s poor tactical decisions at Cannae, whereas in Livy the entire

campaign exemplifies the dangers of a confrontational strategy at this stage in the

war. The contrast between the two speeches therefore reflects the contrasting rôles

assigned by each historian to Paullus: in Polybius, the consul and his words convey

the Romans’ confidence in the great army they have assembled to meet Hannibal; in

Livy, the consul voices the concerns of those who are wise enough to recognise the

danger of direct confrontation with the Carthaginian.

In the absence of a larger body of comparanda, it is impossible to be certain

that Livy’s engagement with Polybius reflects his approach to his sources in general.

It seems likely, however, that Livy’s practice did not vary too greatly between

sources, and that his use of speeches he found in the works of other historians was

equally flexible and varied, ranging from close imitation to subtle alteration to

outright contradiction of his source material. So while Livy rarely drew on published

speeches (authentic or otherwise), he did model some of his orations on those of

earlier historians. This is not to say that all of his speeches derive from his sources:

some, such as Cato’s contio on the repeal of the lex Oppia, are probably original

compositions. Again, in the majority of cases the dearth of evidence makes it

impossible to tell whether a given speech is based on a predecessor’s or is original.

Fortunately, this distinction makes little difference for the purposes of criticism. Livy

was under no constraint to include all of the material available to him in his narrative,

any more than he was to preserve it unaltered. The incorporation of another author’s

work more-or-less unchanged into the AUC therefore reflects a deliberate authorial

decision, a choice that Livy made to use alien material to serve his own (narrative or

didactic) purposes. This act of appropriation disconnects the other author’s material

from its original context, and by making it serve a function within the AUC effectively

renders it Livy’s own. Quintilian certainly treats Livy’s speeches as such when he

calls this historian ‘eloquent beyond description’ in matching his contiones to

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characters and circumstances (Inst. 10.1.101). 368 Modern critics are justified in

following Quintilian’s example and approaching the orations in the AUC as Livy’s

own work, because regardless of how much content they own to other sources they

are ultimately the result of his discrimination and his perspective on the past. 369

To return to Morstein-Marx’s objection, the relationship between Livy’s

recreation of contiones (and other political speeches) in his surviving books and his

present is not as problematic as it might seem. The speeches are unlikely to include

any authentic ancient material because authentic material was rarely, if ever,

available; only on exceptional occasions do they draw on published orations, the

authenticity of which is sometimes doubtful. Insofar as the speeches in the AUC are

based on earlier sources at all, they draw on the work of other historians, which in the

majority of cases must represent imaginative reconstructions of what might have been

said in a given context, rather than approximate records of what actually was said.

But since the decision to ignore or incorporate an oration from a predecessor’s work

into his own, and the decision to embellish or alter it and to what extent, was Livy’s

alone, the speeches in the AUC are to be regarded as products of the author’s present,

governed by his personal interpretation of history and his understanding of its

relevance to the contemporaries for whom he wrote.

So, since the political speeches in the AUC are ultimately products of the

author and his own day, the question is whether they bear any real resemblance to the

political oratory of the late Republic. The value of the AUC as a political text is of

course not dependent on the accuracy of its representation of Republican politics.

Livy could fulfil his didactic aims – provide worthy models for emulation or

avoidance and illuminate the rôles of morality in Rome’s ascent to power and descent

into internecine strife – regardless of whether his depiction of politics was realistic or

not. But as it happens, oratory is one area of late Republican politics of which Livy is

almost certain to have had a genuine understanding. It is true that ‘Livy’s direct

knowledge of the realities of late-Republican political life in the city is suspect’, as

Morstein-Marx says, because so little is known about the historian’s life, and more

importantly because traditional Republican government collapsed when he was so

368 Woodman 2010: 306 cites Quint. Inst. 10.1.101 as evidence of a general expectation in antiquity

that historians would ‘insert into their works speeches of their own composition’. 369 See Haimson Lushkov 2010 on Livy’s composition of the AUC as an assertion of literary dominance

over the work of the predecessors on which he drew. Cf. Pelling 2000: 21, on historiography in general:

‘To narrate is to discriminate, to choose some events and actions as relevant and to eliminate others.’

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young that he could never have experienced it anyway, at least not with a mature and

comprehending mind. Yet Livy need not have had any direct experience of politics to

be familiar with the part played by oratory in it, by virtue of his education. The details

of Livy’s schooling are as elusive as the rest of his personal history, but the speeches

that so impressed rhetoricians such as Quintilian demonstrate a degree of technical

skill and stylistic polish that bespeaks a formal education in rhetoric.370 Technical

texts such as the Rhetorica ad Herenium and Cicero’s De inuentione give some idea

of what a basic late Republican education in rhetoric entailed, while Cicero’s

philosophical treatments of oratory, the De oratore, the Orator, and the Brutus, show

what was available to Romans with more advanced interests. All of these works use

exempla from the history of Roman oratory to illustrate their points and substantiate

their arguments. Some of these exempla are no doubt anecdotal, but others derive

from published speeches. The texts referred to above hint at an extensive body of

material available in Livy’s Rome, of which all that remains as anything more than

fragments are several works of Cicero. Like the Ciceronian corpus, however, the

speeches available to Livy included political orations, delivered in the senate or at

contiones, as well as forensic speeches that involved political matters. Judging from

the frequency with which they are cited in handbooks such as the Rhetorica ad

Herennium and the De inuentione, it seems that published speeches served as models

for students of rhetoric. Cicero himself supports this inference in his Brutus, when his

character recalls the editae orationes he read in his boyhood: the orations of C.

Fimbria, a certain speech of C. Curio, ‘considered the best of all by me when I was a

boy’, another of L. Crassus that was ‘like a teacher’ to him.371 ‘Cicero’ also takes it

for granted that published speeches are objects of study when he recommends that, of

all Roman orators, C. Gracchus is fitting material to be read by the youth.372 In all

likelihood, it is from the written versions of orations that Livy would have learned to

compose speeches, and in the process would have been exposed to the rhetoric that

characterised Republican political oratory.

370 Walsh 1961: 2-4 speculates about Livy’s education. For rhetoric in Roman education, see Bonner

1977: 65-75, 250-327. 371 Fimbria: Cic. Brut. 129: cuius orationes pueri legebamus (‘whose speeches we used to read as

boys’); Curio: Brut. 122: nobis quidem pueris haec omnium optima putabatur (‘this was considered

the best of all by me when I was a boy’); Crassus: Brut. 164: mihi quidem a pueritia quasi magistra

fuit (‘For me indeed from my boyhood it was like a teacher’); see Treggiari 2015: 242. 372 Cic. Brut. 126: legendus, inquam, est hic orator, Brute, si quisquam alius, iuuentuti; non enim solum

acuere, sed etiam alere ingenium potest (‘If anyone must by read by the youth, I say it is this orator,

Brutus, who can not only sharpen but also nourish natural talent’).

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It must be admitted, however, that the published versions of speeches that

were studied by pupils of rhetoric were not verbatim records of the speeches that were

actually delivered. Cicero makes this point when he remarks of two extant speeches

of Crassus that ‘more was said that was written down’ (plura etiam dicta quam

scripta), as indicated by the summary treatment of certain sections of the speeches

(Brut. 164). Even the more complete versions of Cicero’s own orations should be

regarded as idealised versions of what he said, more stylistically polished and perhaps

better organised than the addresses he actually delivered. But this does not mean that

published speeches do not reflect, at least in outline, the substance of what that they

are intended to recreate; Cicero himself in the Brutus accepts scriptae orationes as

evidence of what was actually said. 373 And, more importantly for the current

argument, published speeches replicated the type of rhetoric, with its style, tropes,

and underlying ideology, that characterised political oratory in the late Republic.

There is good reason to be confident that this was the case, precisely because these

texts were used as models for instruction. Indeed, it may well be that orators published

their speeches with this in mind, that is, in the hope that their skills would not only be

appreciated but emulated by succeeding generations.374 Obviously, an orator’s style

and technique, as they were represented in the published versions of his speeches,

were only likely to be emulated if they proved useful to his emulators. So, as

Morstein-Marx stresses, ‘The written version of a speech will therefore have been

expected to reflect closely the actual circumstances of delivery, including the

assumptions of the orator-author as to the distinct nature, disposition, and what we

would call the ideological perspective of the kind of audience to which the original

was delivered.’375 As the opening paragraph of this section mentioned, the analyses

of Morstein-Marx and others who accept this premise have identified a ubiquitous

ideological outlook underlying late Republican rhetoric (although skilled orators

could vary the emphasis they placed on particular aspects of this ideology depending

on the audience they were addressing and the goals of their arguments). Given that

Livy probably learnt to compose speeches in part by studying published texts, if the

373 E.g. Brut. 65, 68-9, 77, 82-3, 114-16, 117, 122, 131, 153, 163, 177; Morstein-Marx 2004: 25-7.

Exceptions such as the second set of speeches In Verrem and the second Philippica, which were never

delivered orally, and the Pro Milone, the presentation of which was interrupted, do not gainsay the

general principal: Morstein-Marx 2004: 26. 374 Stroh 1975: 21, 51-4; followed by Morstein-Marx 2004, 27-8. 375 Morstein-Marx 2004: 28.

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political oratory in his history is at all realistic it should evince aspects of this

ideological consensus. And in fact certain speeches do indeed echo many of the

commonplaces of late Republican political rhetoric, the most notable being the series

of contiones attacking Fabius Maximus in Book 22. The incorporation of this rhetoric

from the late Republic in a narrative of the events of 217 reinforces the impression

that Livy’s speeches are a product of his own time, of his contemporary political and

cultural milieu. It also demonstrates that, regardless of the historian’s practical

experience or personal involvement, he did have some knowledge and understanding

of this aspect of Roman politics. Because his education was based on written orations

that were intended to be as authentic as possible, Livy need never have attended a

contio, let alone a meeting of the senate, to be familiar with the kind of oratory used

in these situations, and with the rhetoric that characterised that oratory.

The preceding analysis suggests that although the material that makes up the

political speeches in the AUC is unlikely to be authentic, it was selected, edited,

rewritten, and in some cases composed by an author who, by virtue of his education

in rhetoric, probably did have an understanding of the character and historical rôle of

oratory in public affairs. In the chapters that follow it will be shown that political

oratory in Livy does have a significance beyond its generic narrative and dramatic

rôles, and beyond the didactic functions of individual speeches. As two recent studies

have shown, the AUC does in fact offer a systematic critique of the part played by

oratory in politics. In her analysis of Livy’s depiction of Syracusan affairs in Book

24, Mary Jaeger has shown that oratory both reflects and generates the political

disorder that afflicts the city following the assassination of Hieronymus. 376 Jaeger

argues that Livy’s depiction of the persistent failure of oratory to quell the discordia

afflicting Syracuse is designed to contrast with the more effective oratory (and,

implicitly, the more ordered state of affairs) at Rome.377 But while this may be true of

Book 24, Livy does not always depict oratory as a force for good in Roman politics.

Vasaly’s study of the first pentad reveals that mass oratory has a varied character and

impact in Livy’s account of the early years of the libera res publica: eloquent

demagogues use oratory to stir up discordia, while good leaders create harmony by

376 Jaeger 2003. 377 Jaeger 2003, esp. 213-14, 217-19, 228-9.

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using oratory assert their moral auctoritas and convey their wisdom to the Roman

people.378

The next section and the chapters that follow will extend these analyses to the

nature and rôle of oratory in Roman politics in Books 21-45. The section immediately

below will review the part that speeches play in regular, everyday politics, in

facilitating affairs of state and maintaining concordia. The next chapter will assess

the negative impact of oratory by examining how it creates discordia or leads to the

adoption of bad policies; it will also assess how politically dangerous oratory is

countered and the proper order defended or re-established. The final chapter will also

deal with oratory in a negative rôle, but what will be examined is an unusual case in

which dangerous oratory is not effectively countered. This approach offers a broad

overview of oratory’s place in Livy’s res publica.

2.3.2 Oratory in the absence of discordia

The AUC offers little insight into what could be called the day-to-day rôle of oratory

at Rome for the simple reason that, as a literary device, speech is more useful as a

way of conveying and exploring conflict than as a way of relating ordinary affairs.

This is not to say that political speech is always dialogic in the AUC; it is simply to

observe that most political speeches occur in the context of a dispute or conflict of

some kind. Moreover, political speech usually plays a causal rôle in Livy’s narrative

of a given conflict, contributing for better or worse to the outcome of the episode.

This is not always true, of course. Livy recounts some contiones merely for

explication or to advance a non-political narrative. The speech that Aemilius Paullus

gives on the occasion of his profectio (44.22.1-16), for example, is not related to any

immediate conflict. Its function is to give character to a figure who is to play an

important part in this book and the next, as well as to reclaim Paullus from Polybius

by inserting him into a line of wise and cautious Roman generals. Another oration

that occurs in the political sphere but plays no real rôle in the narrative is the consul

Sp. Postumius Albinus’ speech at the contio at the end of the Bacchanalia Affair

(39.15-16). Although this oration is a response to political danger, it does not actually

participate in ending that danger; at the point at which the speech is delivered, the

‘conspiracy’ has already been exposed and the senate has made its decision and issued

378 Vasaly 2015: 77-95, 129-32.

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a decree to deal with it (39.14). The speech is just an introduction to the senatus

consultum that will be read aloud at 39.17. It plays no causal rôle in Livy’s account

of the Bacchanalia, but instead serves as an exhortation to defend Roman morals and

traditional piety.379 As such, it restores the moral order after its collapse in the account

of the Bacchanalia, for the benefit of the speech’s audience, both internal and external.

But it plays no part in the politics of this (strangely apolitical) affair.380

Since the majority of political oratory either responds to or provokes political

conflicts in the AUC, it will be discussed in the next two chapters, which treat the

causes of discordia and the responses to it. While oratory is the focus of the last

section in each of these chapters, the ubiquity of political speeches, its inseparability

from public affairs in the AUC, will be apparent from the sections that precede them

too, as indeed it should be already from 2.1 and 2.2 above.

Conclusion

This chapter has shown that the concordia that prevails in Livy’s account of public

affairs in Books 21-45 is based on the willingness of the leaders of the Roman state

to work together for the general good, in accordance with the consensus and

auctoritas of the senate. The next chapter will show that these two pillars of good

government play as important a rôle in suppressing discordia as they do in creating

concordia.

379 See the outline of the speech in Walsh 1994: 123-4, which succinctly captures its main points and

its overarching theme: the preservation of traditional morals and religion. 380 Livy appears to have avoided politicising the Bacchanalia Affair by turning it into a conspiracy

narrative along the lines of Sallust’s Bellum Catilinae. This is not to say that it does not share features

of other conspiracy narratives in Roman literature (see Pagán 2004: 50-67). But the political

implications of the Bacchic coniurationes are largely submerged in the domestic drama of Aebutius

and Hispala (39.9.2-14.3), which incorporates elements of New Comedy (see Scafuro 1989), and the

greater part of Livy’s account is dedicated to the resolution of the affair (39.14.3-19.7). Thus, despite

the drastic response to the Bacchanalia, there is little sense of any real threat to the res publica in this

episode.

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Chapter 3

Creating discordia, Maintaining concordia

Introduction

This chapter follows the same outline as the last, with the first two sections discussing

magistrates and leading citizens and the tribunes of the plebs, the third section

political oratory. The theme of this chapter is twofold: the causes and consequences

of political disorder and bad leadership in Books 21-45, and the way in which political

disorder was opposed and suppressed. It will be demonstrated that in Books 21-45 the

leadership of the res publica were generally able to keep the forces of discordia from

disturbing the harmony of the state for too long.

3.1 Magistrates and leading citizens

In the Bellum Catilinae, in his excursus on the vices that arose after the destruction of

Carthage and the loss of the moral discipline imposed by metus hostilis, Sallust cites

ambitio along with auaritia and subsequently luxuria as the chief causes of Roman

discordia.381 Livy too connects Rome’s eventual moral and political decline with

auaritia luxuriaque; these vices, he writes in his praefatio (10-12), came unusually

late to Rome, though their effect in recent times is all too evident.382 ambitio is absent

from Livy’s explanation of Rome’s recent troubles, and with good reason, for ambitio

plays a part in his history of Roman politics from the very first book.383 And while

auaritia and luxuria also occasionally play a (negative) rôle in the res publica in

Livy’s extant books, an analysis of the causes of political strife in these books reveals

that ambitio is far more often the key factor, particularly in political strife that revolves

around holders of public office and other members of the office-holding class. It is

not the only source of discordia, however, for the following analysis of the roots of

discordia among the political élite reveals other significant factors. It also confirms

381 ambitio: Sall. Cat. 10.3, 5; 9.1-2. For a recent discussion on the theme of political and moral

breakdown in Sallust, see Kapust 2011: 47-50. 382 On the rôle of these vices in the moral and political scheme of Livy’s history, see recently Kapust

2011: 91-2. 383 On the advent and rôle of ambitio in Livy’s account of the Regal period, see Vasaly 2015: 42-8. On

the differences between Livy’s and Sallust’s views of the historical rôle of ambitio, see Ogilvie 1965:

23-4; Moles 2009: 76-7.

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the implications of Livy’s exclusion of ambitio from the vices that came to undermine

the res publica, for in Books 21-45 the Romans generally prove capable of controlling

and mitigating the effects of ambitio and other disruptive factors in politics. If, as

seems likely, ambitio did play a part in the decay of the Roman polity that Livy went

on to describe in the later half of his history, it was not as a novel factor which the

Romans had no experience of confronting.

3.1.1 Discordia and ambitio in élite politics

Competition for honores – the term refers to both public offices and other sources of

honour or acclaim – was inseparable from the Roman practice of politics, especially

for the nobilitas, the highest echelon of the Roman élite. It is something of a paradox

that the ardent desire for renown and high office should constitute a vice, but from the

outset Livy leaves no doubt that ambitio is a moral failing not least because of its

negative impact on the res publica. When Tarquinius Priscus secures the kingship by

means distinctly redolent of later Roman politicians – ‘he is said to be the first man

to have canvassed ambitiously for the kingship and to have had a speech composed

for the purpose of winning the hearts of the plebs’384 – Livy singles out the ambitio

the man displayed seeking the kingship as a character flaw that stained his reign too. 385

In his ambitio to become king, Tarquinius is the first to resort to appealing to the

masses to support his claims, instead of relying on the support of the patres. His

ambitio thereby introduces a degree of discordia into Roman life, creating a division

between the people and the senate.386 He likewise creates a rift within the senate when

he enrols a hundred new senators, a ‘regal faction’ (1.35.6: factio…regis), to bolster

his support in the Curia.387 And eventually his ambitio results in civil violence, when

the sons of Ancus Marcius, angry at Tarquinius’ ‘usurpation’ of the throne, arrange

the king’s assassination (1.40). 388 Thus Livy links Tarquinius’ ambitio with the

discord it sows.

384 1.35.2: isque primus et petisse ambitiose regnum et orationem dicitur habuisse ad conciliandos

plebis animos compositam; see Vasaly 2015: 44. 385 1.35.6: uirum cetera egregium secuta, quam in petendo habuerat, etiam regnantem ambitio est

(‘The ambition that he had in seeking [the kingship] followed this in many ways excellent man as he

was ruling, too’); Vasaly 2015: 44-45. 386 Vasaly 2015: 44. 387 Vasaly 2015: 44-5. 388 Vasaly 2015: 45.

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And ambitio remains a source of discord throughout Livy’s history. In Books

21-45 it is never associated with violence, but it disrupts the government of Rome

nevertheless. ambitio is predominantly associated with competition for honores

among the political élite, and a few select examples suffice to illustrate its effects.

Towards the end of the third decade of the AUC the credit for ending such a long and

protracted war becomes the focus of élite ambitio, as consul after consul disturbs

public affairs in pursuit of gloria.389 The first consul afflicted with this ambitio is P.

Cornelius Scipio, the man who will, in fact, bring about the end of the Hannibalic War

and achieve everlasting glory for it. At 28.40.1-45.8, however, his desire to have

Africa assigned to him as his province, so that he can bring the war to Carthage and

thus have the opportunity to end the war, provokes discordia at the very heart of the

Roman political establishment. Since, as Livy remarks, Scipio is ‘now not satisfied

with [only] moderate glory’ (28.40.1: nulla iam modica gloria contentus), he

determines to have Africa assigned to him by any means necessary, openly declaring

that if the senate does not give him the province he will get the populus to give it to

him instead, i.e. by means of a plebiscitum (28.40.1-2). The arrogance with which

Scipio pursues his goal, and his stated intention to use the populus to bypass the senate

– a move reminiscent of Tarquinius Priscus – should it not accede to his wishes,

naturally provokes the patres’ opposition. The discordia that follows (28.40.2-45.7)

will be treated in closer detail in the next chapter of this thesis (4.1.1), but it should

be obvious that in his pursuit of gloria Scipio has failed in his civil rôle. Instead of

maintaining the concordia of the state in collusion with the senate, as a consul should,

he himself disrupts the concordia of the state by undermining the senate’s auctoritas

and setting it in opposition to the populus. So extraordinary is this situation that it can

only be resolved through the intercession of the tribunes of the plebs, who decree,

over the consul’s objections, that if he does ask the senate to issue a decree concerning

the consular provinces he must abide by its decision (28.45.4-7). Scipio eventually

agrees to the tribunes’ terms, and in the event he is assigned Sicily but given

permission to cross over to Africa if he sees fit (28.45.8).

Once in Africa, Scipio does not manage to bring the war to a quick end, so his

command is prorogued in 204 (29.13.3) and again in 203 (30.1.10-11). On the second

389 For an historical overview of the contests over the African command, see Feig Vishnia 1996: 69-

72.

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occasion his prouincia is assigned to him ‘not for a set time, but for the sake of

completing the task until the war was finished in Africa’ (30.1.10: non temporis sed

rei gerendae fine, donec debellatum in Africa foret). When Scipio’s efforts start to

bear fruit, however, others start to covet the gloria of bringing the war to a close. That

gloria, by convention, would go to the man to whom the prouincia of Africa was

assigned at the moment Carthage was defeated, regardless of the prior efforts of

Scipio.390

A bad precedent is set by one of the consuls of 203, Cn. Servilius Caepio.

Because Hannibal had finally left for Africa during his consulate, Caepio ‘was in no

doubt that the gloria of bringing peace to Italy belonged to him’ (30.24.1: haud dubius

quin pacatae Italiae penes se gloria esset) (despite having fought only a minor

engagement with the Carthaginian), and so he crossed over to Sicily with the intention

of following Hannibal to Africa. Caepio does not appear to have desired the African

command per se; Livy implies that he simply considered it his right to go after

Hannibal. Nevertheless, the consul’s pursuit of gloria makes him abandon his duties

and leave his assigned province, Italy, without authorisation. The senate acts to

restrain the wayward consul, first voting that the praetor urbanus should summon

Caepio back to Italy with a letter, then, on the praetor’s advice, appointing a dictator

to recall Caepio by virtue of his superior imperium (30.24.2-3).

Caepio’s faux pas is followed by deliberate attempts to ‘poach’ the glory of

ending the war from the proconsul of Africa. The following year both consuls, Ti.

Claudius Nero and M. Servilius Geminus, ‘desiring Africa’, Africam ambo cupientes

(30.27.2), summon the senate in the hope that they might be allowed to cast lots for

Africa and Italy. Thanks to the efforts of Q. Metellus, however, the senate manages

to avoid having to decide the matter by advising the consuls to put the matter to the

populus, asking the people whom it wanted to conduct the war in Africa (30.27.2-3).

The concilium plebis votes unanimously for Scipio (30.27.4). But the matter does not

end there, because the consuls cast lots for Africa all the same – with the senate’s

authorisation, surprisingly, ‘for thus the senate had decreed’ (30.27.4: ita enim

senatus decreuerat). Nero won Africa and was granted imperium equal to Scipio’s,

but he was assigned a fleet to patrol the African coast rather than an army (30.27.5).

Reading between Livy’s lines, what seems to be happening here is that the senate,

390 See Feig Vishnia 1996: 70.

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eager to avoid a dispute and any discordia that might arise from it, found a way to

satisfy the consuls’s ambitio without undermining Scipio’s command. First, the

patres avoided any blame in the matter by leaving it to the populus to decide; then

they permitted the consuls to cast lots for Africa without any intention of giving the

winner an army to command, and knowing that they could fall back on the people’s

decision if challenged. Thus, the senate rather cleverly obviated the threat to

concordia that the consuls’ ambitio might otherwise have posed.391 A subsequent

senatus consultum confirms the senate’s support for Scipio’s right to end the war by

alone determining the terms of the Carthaginians’ surrender (30.38.7).

Even after Scipio’s victory at Zama the temptation to rob him of the credit for

ending the war does not subside. One of the next year’s consuls, Cn. Cornelius

Lentulus, ‘burning with desire for the province of Africa’ (cupiditate flagrabat

prouinciae Africae), sets his heart on either an easy victory or, failing that, the gloria

of having the war end under his consulate (30.40.7). This ambitio immediately

disrupts public affairs as the consul forbids any other business being conducted until

Africa was assigned to him (30.40.8). Inevitably, this leads to ‘many struggles’,

multae contentiones (30.40.11). The tribunes Q. Minucius Thermus and M’. Acilius

Glabrio challenge the consul, declaring the question of Scipio’s command settled by

the previous year’s plebiscitum, brought ex auctoritate patrum and passed by

unanimous vote of the populus (30.40.9-10). But the invocation of both patrum

auctoritas and popular will are not enough to deter the ambitious consul, and

eventually the matter is conceded to the senate to decide (30.40.11). As in the previous

case, the senate’s handling of the problem is sensitive and clever, designed to satisfy

all parties. The consuls are to be allowed to cast lots for Italy and for a fleet; the

commander of the fleet is to cross to the African coast if peace is not arranged

forthwith; as in the case of Nero’s command, the leader of the fleet is to have

imperium equal to Scipio’s but is to conduct naval operations only; and should terms

be agreed upon, the populus is to decide which of the two men should formally make

peace and which of them return with the recognition of having won the victory

(30.40.12-14).

391 Contra Feig Vishnia 1996: 70, who interprets the senate’s ‘inconsistency’ as a sign of its

‘confusion’.

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But even then the problem of ambitio does not subside. With peace imminent,

the consul Lentulus, to whom the fleet had been assigned, forbids the senate to issue

any decree in respect of the treaty (30.43.1). By this point, Livy has no need to explain

the consul’s motives. The two tribunes who challenged the consuls earlier bring the

matter before the people all the same, asking them, in accordance with the senatus

consultum of 30.40.12-14, whether the senate should issue a decree of peace, and

whom they wished to make the peace and bring the army back from Africa (30.43.2).

Naturally the people give all the gloria to Scipio.

Rachel Feig Vishnia argues that to attribute these disputes to ‘personal

ambition alone is to tell only one part of the story’.392 This may perhaps be true from

an historical perspective, but in the story that Livy tells ambitio is at the root of all.393

Their desire for gloria makes Scipio, Caepio, and Lentulus fail in their consular

responsibilities, with Caepio abandoning his province and the others attacking senatus

auctoritas – the latter arguably the worse of the transgressions, since it fundamentally

subverts the proper relationship between consul and senate. But in all cases the

disruption to public business is brought to an end, more or less swiftly, and the proper

political order is reasserted. The senate and the tribunes, often working together,

outmanoeuvre the ambitious consuls, to the benefit of the res publica.

The desire for the acclaim of winning a great war causes trouble elsewhere

in Books 21-45, too. Livy associates C. Terentius Varro’s tumultuous bid for the

consulate with a desire for a victory over Hannibal, since he depicts Varro as one of

the ‘brash commanders’ of Books 21-2. Livy does not attribute this desire to Varro

until after his election as consul, when in ‘many insolent public speeches’, contiones

multae ac feroces, he vows to ‘end the war the day he catches sight of the enemy’

(22.38.6-7: bellum…se quo die hostem uidisset perfecturum). But during the election

campaigns Varro’s cousin, the tribune Q. Baebius Herennius, stresses his kinsman’s

prospects of winning the war while insinuating that the nobiles’ opposition to the

nouus homo Varro is part of a conspiracy to prolong it (22.34.2-11). The discordia

that Herennius’ speeches provoke between the populus and the patres is so severe that

the populus not only elects the eminently unsuitable Varro to the consulate, but

initially refuses to elect a colleague for him from among the patricians (22.35.1-2).

392 Feig Vishnia 1996: 72. 393 Contra Feig Vishnia 1996: 72, there is also little evidence in Book 30 of continued opposition to

Scipio’s command within the senate.

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Varro’s desire for the credit of conquering Hannibal leads him directly to his defeat

at Cannae, and thus leads Rome to the brink of defeat in the war. This case of ambitio

is part of an extended sequence of political upheavals in which the leaders of the state

collectively fail to control the forces of discord, and such failures are rare in Books

21-45.394 More often the senate and tribunes are successful in limiting the damage

cause by the political élite’s hunger for martial gloria. The Macedonian command in

the second war with Philip V provokes ambitio in some consuls in much the same

way the African command does at the end of the Hannibalic War, and with similar

results too. First C. Cornelius Cethegus and Q. Minucius Rufus, the consuls of 197,

want Macedonia included among the provinces to be alloted to them (32.28.3). The

tribunes L. Oppius and Q. Fulvius object on the grounds that continually changing

commanders would retard the progress of the war (32.28.3-7). The tribunes manage

to convince the consuls to put the matter in the hands of the senate, and the senate

signals its agreement with the tribunes by assigning both consuls to Italy and

proroguing the command of T. Quinctius Flamininus, who had led the campaign in

the previous year (32.28.8-9). The consuls of the following year (196), L. Furius and

M. Claudius Marcellus Purpurio, attempt the same thing as their predecessors when

it becomes apparent that the senate intends once again to assign Italy to both of them

(33.25.4). Marcellus, ‘especially eager for the province’ (prouinciae cupidior) of

Macedonia argues that the peace that Flamininus has achieved is illusory, and his

argument sows doubt among the patres (33.25.5). This time, however, it is the

tribunes who come to the aid of the senate, when Q. Marcius Ralla and C. Atinius

Labeo announce that they would veto any motion before the question of peace was

referred to the people – who duly vote for peace to be made formally (33.25.6-7). In

these two episodes, first the senate and tribunes together and then the tribunes alone

prevent consular ambitio from needlessly and selfishly prolonging the war.

Other wars might not offer the chance for the kind of immortal renown won

by Scipio Africanus and T. Flamininus, but the possibility of adding a triumph to

one’s res gestae is a regular spur to ambition in Livy. Inevitably, the contests over the

right to a triumph in which this ambition often results become a locus of discordia,

394 This sequence of political episodes in Book 22, and the rôle of oratory in it, is the subject of Chapter

4.2 below.

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particularly in the fourth and what remains of the fifth decade.395 At 31.48 a dispute

arises within the senate over the validity of the praetor L. Furius Purpureo’s request

for a triumph in recognition of his victory over the Gauls. The praetor had fought the

engagement with an army that was technically under the command of the consul C.

Aurelius Cotta, which the senate had authorised the consul to send to reinforce Furius

after a sudden attack.396 In recognition of the victory, the senate had approved a three-

day supplicatio (31.22.1), but Cotta was resentful of the lost opportunity for ending

the Gallic uprising, and upon resuming command of his army sent Furius away to

Etruria (31.47.4-5).397 The praetor, ‘eager for a triumph’, triumpho imminens, took

advantage of the consul’s absence to return to Rome to press his case (31.47.6-7).398

The praetor’s request creates a division in the senate, some recognising the ‘greatness

of his achievements’ (magnitudine rerum gestarum) and looking favourably on his

claim (31.48.1), other, older senators rejecting it because he had fought the battle with

another man’s army and because in his ambitio, his lust for a triumph, he had

abandoned his province (31.48.2: quod prouinciam reliquisset cupiditate rapiendi per

occasionem triumphi); the consulars, too, favour rejecting the request because, they

argue, the praetor ought to have waited for the consul (31.48.3-5). In the end, a ‘large

part of the senate’, magna pars senatus, stressing the praetor’s achievements and the

exigencies of war, persuades the other part to concede a triumph to Furius (31.48.6-

49.1).399 This matter is resolved more easily than most of the disputes arising from

ambitio discussed above: the senators settle it among themselves, as they should,

without recourse to the tribunes or to clever compromises. The senate’s vote is

decisive, preventing the discord sown by the consul and the praetor from going

beyond the walls of the Curia. It also preserves senatus auctoritas, since the senate

395 On this topic, see Pittenger 2008: 168-274 and passim; and 149-67 on the all too rare triumphs

during the Second Punic War. 396 The background to this episode is given at 31.10.1-11.3; the battle: 31.21; see Pittenger 2008: 168-

70. 397 Though the real cause of Cotta’s resentment is not described, it is implied by his ‘anger at the praetor

for having dealt with the matter when he [the consul] was away’ (31.47.4: iram aduersus praetorem

quod absente se rem gessisset), and by the description of him as ‘angry and envious’ iratus atque

inuidens (31.47.6); for interpretation see Pittinger 2008: 170-1. 398 Pittenger 2008: 171 interprets Furius’ decision to press his claim to a triumph after his dismissal to

Etruria as recognition of (a) the lack of opportunity for further noteworthy accomplishments in Etruria,

and (b) the possibility that Cotta, now in his province with an army at his disposal, would monopolise any further gloria to be had in the war, hence overshadowing his own achievement. 399 See Pittenger 2008: 171-6 for an analysis of the debate and the interplay of the various sides’

competing strategies.

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had after all given Cotta permission to dispatch his soldiers to Furius as

reinforcements; it would be inconsistent, not to say self-defeating, for the senate to

admit that this had been a mistake (31.48.8-9).400

But the ambitio of the leading men in the state need not be directed at the

greater glories of war to be disruptive and damaging to public interests. Regular

offices, comparatively mundane honores when set against the gloria of ending the

Hannibalic or Macedonian Wars or even of a triumph, were still more than sufficiently

desirable to stimulate fierce competition. This competition was of course a normal

part of the life of the political élite, particularly among the nobiles of the greater

families who saw the highest offices as their birthright. On occasion, however,

candidates could get carried away by their ambitio, with dire consequences for the res

publica. There are several such cases in Books 21-45. C. Varro in Book 22 was

mentioned above in connection with the consequences of his desire for the renown of

defeating Hannibal. But Livy attributes a range of offences to this nouus homo that

proceeded from his desire to rise above the humble station in which he was born.401

He has made a career of attacking and denigrating good citizens, and his most recent

victim is the dictator Q. Fabius Maximus Verrucosus. 402 By advocating the bill

proposed by M. Metilius to grant the dictator’s magister equitum equal imperium, he

attracts sufficient popular enthusiasm by stirring up hatred of the dictator (22.26.4:

fauoris popularis ex dictatoria inuidia) to sustain his bid for the consulate. 403

Following in the footsteps of Tarquinius Priscus, Varro realises his ambition of rising

to social and political prominence ‘by railing against the leading men and by the

demagogic arts’ (22.34.2: insectatione principum popularibusque artibus), profiting

from the discordia he has sown between patres and populus.

Varro’s ambitio is in large part responsible for the worst discordia between

the orders in the AUC outside of the first decade. Never again in the extant books does

the pursuit of honores disturb the harmony of the orders to this extent, but it does

occasionally generate discord within the political class. The censorial elections in 189,

400 Pittenger 2008: 175-6. 401 Varro was reputedly the son of a butcher (22.25.18-19), but resolved to live a life more suited to a

freeman upon receiving his inheritance: 22.26.1. 402 Varro’s disreputable career: proclamando pro sordidis hominibus causisque aduersus rem et famam

bonorum primum in notitiam populi, deinde ad honores peruenit (22.26.2: ‘by clamouring on behalf

of squalid fellows and causes against the property and reputation of good citizens he came first to the

notice of the people, and from there to public offices’). On the rôle of demagoguery in Varro’s rise to

power, see the discussion at Chapter 4.2.2. 403 22.25.18; 22.26.3-4; 22.34.2.

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for example, are hotly contested because of the ‘many eminent men’, multi et clari

uiri (37.57.9), who were candidates that year. The competition was all the more

intense because of the candidates’ parity in terms of merit (37.57.9). M’. Acilius

Glabrio, the victor of Thermopylae and conqueror of the Aetolians, enjoys special

fauor populi, however, thanks to his generous congriaria, ‘by which he bound a great

proportion of the men to himself in obligation’ (37.57.11: quibus magnam partem

hominum obligarat). The advantage Glabrio enjoys provokes resentment, not least

among the nobiles who saw ‘a new man being so much preferred to themselves’

(nouum sibi hominem tantum praeferri); two tribunes of the plebs, P. Sempronius

Gracchus and C. Sempronius Rutilus – apparently eager to curry favour with the

nobiles (see Chapter 2.2.2 above) – take it upon themselves to bring a charge of

peculation against him (37.57.12). One of the candidates, M. Cato, testifies against

Glabrio (37.57.13-14), and Livy comments that the former’s ‘white toga [i.e.

candidacy] detracted from the auctoritas that he had cultivated strenuously all his life’

(cuius auctoritatem perpetuo tenore uitae partam toga candida eleuabat’). Finally,

Glabrio withdraws his candidacy, and in a parting shot intended to arouse inuidia

against Cato he accused him of behaving worse than the nobiles by perjuring himself

against a fellow nouus homo (37.57.15). Their rivalry for the censorship brings shame

on all the participants in this contentio. Another fiercely contested election, for the

patrician consulate of 184, sees a consul, App. Claudius Pulcher, bring himself into

disrepute by canvassing on behalf for his brother (39.32.5-9). This provokes an outcry

against his improper conduct from the other contenders and the greater part of the

senators (39.32.10-11), and generating such ‘great disputes’, magnae contentiones,

among the tribunes that ‘the assembly was thrown into confusion several times’

(39.32.12: comitia aliquotiens turbata). In the previous example there is no mention

of any attempt to ameliorate the discordia created by the intensity of the competition,

presumably because nothing overtly illegal or untraditional took place. Here,

however, Livy highlights the opposition of the majority of the senators to App.

Claudius’ impropriety, but neither the senate nor the tribunes prove capable of

bringing the consul to heel. The consul’s brother is elected contrary to even his own

expectations; the historian makes is own view of this affair perfectly clear by labelling

it a case of uis Claudiana (39.32.13). The patres are rather more successful in dealing

with the irregular candidacy of Q. Fulvius Flaccus, an aedile-elect, for the office of

praetor when the incumbent dies unexpectedly (39.39). Here again the ambitio of an

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aspirant to magistracy causes great contentio, and in his stubbornness he refuses to

concede to the auctoritas of either the consul L. Porcius or of the senate (39.39.8-10).

An ‘enormous struggle’, ingens certamen, among the tribunes resolves nothing,

merely stalling the election, but in the meantime the patres arrive at the ingenious

solution of simply decreeing that there are enough praetors already (39.39.13-14).

From the ubiquity of ambitio in the AUC, it is clear that to Livy’s mind that

ambitio was an inevitable part of political life at Rome. Much of the internal strife in

Books 21-45 stems from the ambitio exhibited by many of the leading men of the

state. But there are other causes of political disorder.

3.1.2 Discordia and inimicitiae in élite politics

Rivalry was as much a part of the public life of the élite as the desire for honores, but

sometimes – indeed, often – personal rivalries developed into genuine enmity. 404

David Epstein, in his fundamental study of personal enmity in the Republic, highlights

the ambivalence that élite Romans displayed towards inimicitiae as a consequence of

their political culture.405 One the one hand,

‘Because their national interests could be threatened when individuals

pursued mutual hostility without regard for higher concerns, they

found such pursuits irreconcilable with the ideal Roman polity. At the

same time, most [élite] Romans aspired to the dignity of consular

status, which could only be obtained through ruthless competition and

the elimination of one’s peers. Such ambition inevitably generated

inimicitiae.’406

Livy’s history of Rome attests the general accuracy of this analysis. In Books 21-45,

inimicitiae are associated with the contests between individual members of the

political élite over the highest honores: the AUC takes for granted that inimicitiae are

an attendant phenomenon of Roman politics. Yet these inimicitiae disrupt Roman

politics, and as such they have to be controlled by the broader political leadership.

The inimicitae that came to the fore in the censorship of M. Livius Salinator

and C. Claudius Nero had their origins in the trial and exile of the former many years

404 On the causes of enmity in the Republic, see Epstein 1987: 30-63. 405 Epstein 1987: 12-29. The term inimicitiae properly refers to discrete ‘demonstrations of hostility,

whether by action or declaration’ rather than to enmity as a phenomenon, hence it usually occurs in the

plural: Epstein 1987: 3; cf. Hellegouarc’h 1963: 186-7. For a discussion of the term see Epstein 1987:

1-3. For the sake of simplicity, this thesis uses inimicitiae to refer to the phenomenon as well as to its

individual manifestations. 406 Epstein 1987: 12.

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before (27.34.3-8). Ironically they had been elected co-consuls in 208, but had been

convinced by senatus auctoritas to set aside their enmity in order to conduct their

duties properly (27.35.5-9). When they again shared a magistracy, this time the

censorship, their inimicitiae resumed. At 29.37.8-16 the two engage in a ridiculous

display of resentment: first they strip one another of their equi publici, then Nero

demotes Salinator to the aerarii, then Salinator demotes the entire Roman people to

the aerarii. In addition to the obvious disruption to public affairs, the censors bring

shame upon themselves (29.37.11), and almost bring the censorship itself into

disrepute (when an opportunistic tribune attempts to try both men while they are still

in office: 29.37.17).

Another famous rivalry has already been mentioned, in the previous chapter’s

analysis of Ti. Sempronius Gracchus’ confrontation with his fellow tribune M.

Aburius. The debate at 39.4.1-5.7 is only the latest effort in M. Aemilius Lepidus’

ongoing campaign to deny his inimicus M. Fulvius Nobilior a triumph. This is itself

merely one manifestation of the two men’s hostility.407 Livy explains the source of

this hostility by way of an introduction to Lepidus’ efforts to ruin his inimicus’

chances of being rewarded for his successful campaign in Aetolia.

inimicitiae inter M. Fuluium et M. Aemilium consulem erant, et super

cetera Aemilius serius biennio se consulem factum M. Fuluii opera

ducebat. itaque ad inuidiam ei faciendam legatos Ambracienses in

senatum subornatos criminibus introduxit (38.43.1-2)[.]

There was enmity between M. Fulvius and M. Aemilius the consul, and

on top of everything else Aemilius believed that the efforts of M.

Fulvius had made him consul two years too late. And so to bring hatred

upon the latter he brought into the senate Ambraciot ambassadors who

had been coached in accusations.

Livy’s reference to the origins of the inimicitiae prompts the reader to recall the two

previous consular elections.408 The precise reason that Lepidus blames Nobilior for

his first defeat is not clear, except insofar as Nobilior is elected ahead of him (and

everyone else: there had to be a runoff election because none of the other candidates

407 Pittenger 2008: 196-204 provides a penetrating analysis of Livy’s depiction of Lepidus’ and

Nobilior’s inimicitiae. 408 Pittenger 2008: 197.

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received the requisite number of votes in the first round: 37.47.6-7).409 What is clear,

however, is Lepidus’ ambitio, which made him leave his province to canvass without

the senate’s permission (37.47.6). As Miriam Pittenger recognises, this ‘constituted a

political faux pas…because it signaled [sic] that he put his ambition before duty’.410

The disrepute this brought Lepidus is a much more obvious reason for his defeat than

anything Nobilior did. On the occasion of Lepidus’ second defeat the reasons for his

hatred of Nobilior are more clear (although the latter’s rôle still is not), for Livy states

simply that as presiding consul Nobilior saw to his inimicus’ defeat (38.35.1: M.

Aemilium Lepidum inimicum eo quoque anno petentem deiecisset). So once again

ambitio and wounded dignitas are responsible for inimicitiae that come to disrupt

public affairs.411

Nobilior appears to have abused his position to keep Lepidus from a consulate

on the second occasion.412 When Lepidus does finally win the consulate, he repays

his inimicus in kind, continuing the cycle of magisterial misconduct that proceeds

from their enmity. First, in order to bring inuidia on his enemy, he introduces the

Ambraciot emissaries to denounce the sack of their city by the Nobilior as cruel and

excessive (38.43.1-6). The other consul, C. Flaminius, sees through this however,

rebukes his colleague for bringing his inimicitiae into the senate, and vows to block

any decree respecting the Ambraciots or Aetolians in Nobilior’s absence (38.43.7-

13). Undeterred and unabashed, Lepidus simply waits until Flaminius is absent one

day, and passes a motion through the senate effectively reversing Nobilior’s conquest

of Ambracia (38.44.2-5).413 Thus the consul unites abuse of his power in the domestic

sphere with interference with Roman interests abroad. And his campaign to discredit

his inimicus and prevent him from enjoying the gloria of his conquests continues with

his attempt to block a senatorial vote regarding a triumph for Nobilior, by proxy as it

happens, since he is away. This attempt fails thanks largely to Ti. Gracchus, as

discussed in Chapter 2.2.4.

There is a coda to these inimicitiae in Book 40, however. When the enemies

happen to be elected censors together, the leading senators, accompanied by a throng

409 See Pittenger 2008: 197-8, who suggests that Lepidus’ resentment against Nobilior specifically

relate to the fact that Nobilior seems to have presided over the second round of voting at which Lepidus

was against defeated. 410 Pittenger 2008: 198. 411 Epstein 1987: 59. 412 Epstein 1987: 73. 413 See Pittenger 2008: 203-4 on Lepidus’ manoeuvring.

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of citizens, approaches the censors, and Q. Caecillius Metellus pleads with them to

set aside their enmity so that they can perform their duties properly (40.45.6-46.13).

The censors agree to concede to the power of so many leading citizens (40.46.14: se

in potestate tot principum ciuitatis futuros), and formally end their feud to universal

applause (40.46.15). The senate praises both the principes for their concern for the

state and the censors for their willingness to yield (40.46.15). This, then, is an

encouraging end to an otherwise troubling rivalry, in which principes and ordinary

citizens come together to plead for the good of the res publica, and two bitter enemies

finally set aside their personal interests for those of the public.414 As inimici, Nobilior

and Lepidus end their careers on a more positive note than Salinator and Nero.

3.1.3 C. Flaminius against élite politics

Shameful and disruptive as they are, they inimicitae of these magistrates at least have

an intelligible cause. There is one holder of high office in Books 21-45, however, who

disrupts politics and even endangers the state out of nothing more than spite towards

the rest of the ruling élite: C. Flaminius. Livy may have detailed the reasons for this

rancour in earlier books, as he no doubt recounted the previous confrontations, uetera

certamina, with the patres that he mentions at 21.63.2, dating them to Flaminius’

tribunate, his first consulate, and his bid for a triumph. As it is, however, Flaminius

comes across only as a deeply irresponsible man, with no regard for concordia.

Flaminius combines his enmity towards the patres with ambitio in an earlier

event that Livy mentions. Flaminius, he writes, earned himself the inuidia of the

senators by supporting Q. Claudius’ bill limiting the capacity of senators’ ships

(21.63.3-4). This was demagogic opportunism on Flaminius’ part, for, although it won

him the inuidia of the nobilitas, it also won him the fauor of the plebs that elevated

him to a second consulate (21.63.4). But with cause to fear that his enemies might try

to stall his assumption of office, Flaminius leaves Rome without taking the auspices

(21.63.5). This dereliction of his religious duty causes the patres to remark that

414 Pittenger 2008: 210-11 argues that this episode demonstrates the particular importance to the

Romans of concordia between the censors, because of their moral exemplarity as well as the essential

tasks they performed. Hence e.g. Livy’s stress on the harmony between Scipio Africanus and P. Aelius

Paetus in the censorship (32.7.3: magna inter se concordia); cf. the concordia between Ti. Sempronius

Gracchus and C. Claudius Pulcher, demonstrated above all by Gracchus’ readiness to accompany his

colleague into exile (43.16.15). Even when the two differ, as they do over the enrolment of freedmen

in the rural tribes, they find a way to resolve their difference without discordia, and earn the senate’s

praise for it (45.15.1-9).

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Flaminius is ‘waging war not just with the senate, but now with the immortal gods’

(21.63.6: non cum senatu modo, sed iam cum dis immortalibus C. Flaminium bellum

gerere). And when summoned by the senate to return to Rome to perform the proper

rites, Flaminius simply ignores the summons (21.63.11-12).

Thus Flaminius manifests all the worst traits associated with bad members of

the political class: ambitio without moral limits, the demagogue’s willingness to

aggravate discordia between patres and populus in the pursuit of his goals, and a

disregard for senatus auctoritas and even for the gods. The ultimate result of

Flaminius’ impiety is his death and the destruction of his army at Lake Trasumennus,

and so his misconduct damages not only the internal affairs of the state, but brings

Rome into existential danger.

What all of the trouble-makers discussed above share is a willingness to

prioritise their self-interest, be it ambitio, inimicitiae, or a combination thereof. Books

21-45 paint a clear picture of the dangers that unbridled self-interest among the

leading men poses to civil harmony and good governance. But as this section also

shows, the senate, magistrates, and tribunes, working individually or in concert, are

usually able to limit or mitigate the worst effects of selfish conduct – usually, but

worryingly not always.

3.2 Tribunes of the plebs

The previous chapter showed that, by the beginning of the third decade of the AUC,

the tribunate had evolved from its origins as an instrument of plebeian resistance to

patrician rule into an integral component of the Roman state, with the tribunes for the

most part acting as useful and willing partners in senatorial rule. Yet there is no

shortage of political discord or bad policy resulting from tribunician activity in Books

21-45.

The capacity of the plebeian tribunate to cause political upheaval has no

parallel among the junior magistracies of any other ancient polity. The extent of its

powers, the range of its competence, and the fact that it was not answerable to any

other office or institution made the tribunate as powerful within the ritual boundary

of Rome as the technically superior praetorship and consulate. Yet in spite of

abundant evidence of the tribunate’s potential to disrupt the stability of the state, there

was no serious attempt to curtail the power of the tribunes until L. Sulla’s dominatio,

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and even Sulla’s measures were reversed within a decade of his death. Roman

conservatism seems to have ensured that tribunate and its powers were preserved as

they were, despite the obvious problems they posed to the governance of the state.

This conservative attitude is well-illustrated by the discussion in Cicero’s De legibus

(3.19-26), and as the previous chapter illustrated Livy appears to have shared this

view of the tribunate as a problematic but indispensable part of the libera res publica.

Since there was little will to alter the traditional powers of the tribunate – even

Cicero could offer no convincing solution to the contradictions of the office415 – the

Romans had to respond to each challenge that resulted from the tribunes’ activities as

it arose. Livy’s history reflects this ad hoc approach to tribunician disruptions: it gives

no sense of any unified approach to or governing principle for dealing with the

troubles caused by tribunes. Certain patterns can nevertheless be gleaned from Livy’s

depiction of tribunician controversies in Books 21-45 that explain how the discordia

generated by these controversies was, for the most part, contained and ameliorated.

This section analyses the causes and nature of the political conflicts aroused by

tribunes of the plebs, and the ways in which these conflicts are resolved.

3.2.1 The causes of tribunician troubles

The problems caused by Livy’s tribunes are as diverse as their powers are broad: they

promulgate pernicious laws, use their veto to block the resolutions of the senate,

defame leading citizens at contiones and sometimes even prosecute them. In general,

it is not the tribunes’ use of these prerogatives per se that renders their actions harmful

to the res publica, since, as the previous chapter showed, other tribunes deploy the

same powers to the polity’s benefit. Rather, in the majority of cases it is the purposes

for which certain tribunes use their powers that provokes conflict or threatens Roman

interests. And while the specific aims of the trouble-makers vary according to

circumstance, they are typically alike in being motivated by personal interest.

As with the magistrates discussed in the previous section, the motives of the

turbulent or troublesome tribunes in the AUC are often quite transparent, and as with

their magisterial counterparts they are usually motivated by ambitio or by personal

relationships, amicitia and inimicitia. Not that Livy is always explicit about a

415 Although Marcus has the last word in the debate over the tribunate in Leg. 3.19-26, he fails to

convince his interlocutors of the consitutional necessity of the tribunes: the discussion ends in ,

leaving the problem of the tribunate unresolved: Dyck 2004: 516.

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tribune’s aims or purposes. The historian often refers directly to the influence of

kinship/friendship and enmity, but is more understated about the rôle of ambitio in a

character’s actions. Sometimes he leaves it to his audience to infer a tribune’s motives

from his description of the circumstances, but it is often obvious that a desire for

renown or political advancement is behind the man’s actions. For example, he relates

Cn. Baebius’ attempt to bring M. Livius Salinator and C. Claudius Nero to trial

without comment, but he does describe it as arising out of the unpopularity of the

famously antagonistic pair:

in inuidia censores cum essent, crescendi ex iis ratus esse occasionem

Cn. Baebius tribunus plebis diem ad populum utrique dixit (29.37.17).

Since the censors were unpopular, Cn. Baebius, tribune of plebs,

considering it an opportunity to become great at their expense, set a

date for each of them to come before the people.

Baebius comes across as an opportunist, and the source of his opportunism would

have been apparent to a Roman audience familiar with the long history of tribunes

who prosecuted high-profile figures in an effort to increase their own standing and

renown. The senate draws the same conclusion from the Petillii’s prosecution of

Scipio Africanus. Livy does not offer any explanation in his narrative voice for the

tribunes’ attack on Scipio or his brother, although he makes it clear that others, such

as Cato, supported the prosecutions because of their enmity towards the great man.

At 38.53.7, however, the senate denounces the Petillii because, in the patres’

assessment, ‘they wanted to be illustrious through another person’s unpopularity and

were after the spoils of a triumph over Africanus’ (splendere aliena inuidia uoluissent

et spolia ex Africani triumpho peterent), much as Baebius had wanted to exploit the

unpopularity of Salinator and Nero. The consensus of the senate, as so often, is offered

to the reader as a guide to interpreting the situation, and nothing else in the account

of the ‘trials’ suggests that the Petillii are motivated by anything other than

opportunistic ambition. The same motive is evident in the account of the prosecution

of M.’ Acilius Glabrio, which is attributed directly to the ire the latter’s candidacy

aroused among the nobiles:

id cum aegre paterentur tot nobiles, nouum sibi hominem tantum

praeferri, P. Sempronius Gracchus et C. Sempronius Rutilus, <tribuni

plebis,> ei diem dixerunt… (37.57.12)

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Since so many nobiles took offence that a new man should be so far

preferred to themselves, P. Sempronius Gracchus and C. Sempronius

Rutilus, tribunes of the plebs, set a trial date for him…

The cum clause suggests a causal relationship between the nobiles’ irritation and the

Sempronii’s suit, just as the cum clause at 29.37.17 connects Baebius’ attempt to try

the censors causally to their unpopularity. Thus, without referring directly to the

tribunes’ motives, Livy presents the Sempronii as exploiting Glabrio’s unpopularity

with an influential segment of society, strongly implying they want to gain favour

with the nobiles. In each of the cases discussed here, Livy presents the tribunes as

being driven by a desire for self-aggrandisement at the expense of prominent men,

rather than by any genuine desire for justice; moreover, the Scipiones are presented

as blameless, and Glabrio’s guilt is not certain either. M. Postumius Pyrgensis, the

publicanus who had been sinking his own ships to claim insurance from the state, is

at least guilty of the charge for which the tribunes Sp. and L. Carvilius propose to fine

him.416 The tribunes’ prosecution, however, is presented as response to the fraud’s

unpopularity (again, with a causal cum clause):

populus seuerior uindex fraudis erat, excitatique tandem duo tribuni

plebis, Sp. et L. Caruilii, cum rem inuisam infamemque cernerent,

ducentum milium aeris multam M. Postumio dixerunt (25.3.13).

The people were a harder avenger of deceit, and at length there were

aroused two tribunes of the plebs, Sp. and L. Carvilius: since they

discerned that the matter was unpopular and notorious, they announced

a fine of two hundred thousand gold pieces for M. Postumius.

Thus, although the guilt of the tribunes’ target is not in doubt, the Carvilii nevertheless

appear to be motivated by the chance to win popular favour rather than by a desire to

see justice done. The Carvilii are no less opportunistic and ambitious than the

Sempronii and Baebius.

Whereas the historian tends to let his readers infer the impact of ambitio on

his tribunes’ disruptive behaviour, he frequently draws their attention to the private

relationships that influence tribunes’ actions for the worse. Livy presents some

tribunes as using, or rather abusing, their office to attack their inimici. He introduces

C. Publicius Bibulus, who uses his contiones to heap infamy and hatred on M.

Claudius Marcellus and proposes a bill to abrogate the latter’s command, as inimicus

416 Livy presents Postumius’ crimes as a matter of fact at 25.3.8-11.

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ei (27.20.11), apparently satisfied that the label alone is sufficient to explain the

tribune’s actions. P. Rutilius’ decision to aid the publicani against the censors Ti.

Sempronius Gracchus and C. Claudius Pulcher is described as arising ‘out of a private

matter, [Rutilius] having been enraged by a dispute with the censors’ (43.16.3: ex rei

priuatae contentione iratum censoribus), but here at least Livy offers a brief account

of the circumstances that made the tribune into the censors’ enemy. Another tribune

with a grudge against these censors, Cn. Tremellius, vetoes their request for their term

of office to be extended ‘because he was not enrolled in the senate [by them]’

(45.15.9: quia lectus non erat in senatum). Rutilius and Tremellius have an earlier

parallel in the tribune M. Metellus, who tries to bring the censors P. Furius and M.

Atilius to trial before the people. Livy makes no mention of the charges, but focuses

instead on the source of tribune’s grievance against the censors, who had stripped

Metellus of his equus publicus and reduced him to the aerarii for supposedly

conspiring to abandon Rome in the wake of the Battle of Cannae (24.43.2-3). The

account of this affair gives the irresistible impression that private enmity, not public

interest, is the reason for Metellus’ prosecution.

And the AUC shows that friendship and family connections, as well as enmity,

can motivate tribunes to misuse their powers. Q. Baebius Herennius, who plays the

demagogue and stirs up popular anger against the senate and augurs in his contiones,

is a relative of C. Terentius Varro and hopes to promote his relation’s candidacy

through the inuidia he is arousing against his nobilis opponents (22.34.3-4). Another

tribune of the plebs, described as a relative of L. Scribonius, who was among the

envoys sent by Hannibal to negotiate the release of the Roman survivors of Cannae,

proposed that the ransom be paid but was voted down in the senate, at least according

to one tradition Livy knew (22.61.7). The tribune’s proposal is not directly attributed

to the bonds of kinship, but the pointed mention of a family connection makes the

inference difficult to resist. Livy’s account of this alternative tradition implies that the

tribune, like the matrons clamouring for the release of their sons and husbands outside

the senate, has allowed personal feelings to overwhelm his judgement of what was

best for Rome at this moment of crisis. That family connections, no less than personal

antipathy, could exert a negative influence on a tribune is presented as a matter of

fact, something that can be taken for granted. Livy’s treatment of C. Servilius Casca,

a ‘blood-relative’, propinquus cognatusque (25.3.15), of the fraudulent publicanus

M. Postumius Pyrgensis, is illuminating. With the populus so hostile towards them,

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Casca’s veto is described as the contractors’ sole hope, and Livy offers no further

explanation of this hope than the tribune’s kinship with Postumius (25.3.15). Indeed,

it is Casca’s reluctance to intercede on his relative’s behalf (for shame and fear of the

people’s anger), rather than the possibility that he might do so despite their obvious

guilt, that Livy felt the need to explain (25.3.17).

In view of the proclivity of tribunes to let their ambitions and personal

relationships dictate their conduct in office, Ti. Sempronius Gracchus’ principled

refusal to do so is part of what makes him so noteworthy. As the previous chapter

showed, Livy stresses Gracchus’ readiness to set aside his inimicitiae with Scipio

Africanus in the interest of performing his tribunician duties – a lesson that he makes

Gracchus himself reiterate when he admonishes M. Aburius for using his tribunate to

participate in other men’s quarrels (39.5.5).417 Gracchus therefore stands as a counter-

exemplum to the self-interested tribunes who quite often disturb the res publica in

Books 21-45. His behaviour is also, significantly, far from typical: indeed, upon

introducing him Livy remarks that Gracchus’ well-known inimicitiae with Scipio

make everyone expect that he would be harsher towards his enemy than his colleagues

(38.52.9). His refusal to avail himself of the opportunity to pursue his private quarrel

with Africanus or to increase his renown at the great man’s expense, as the Petillii are

doing, is contrary to public expectations. The implication is that most tribunes would

not have demonstrated Gracchus’ scruples; his is the exception that proves the rule.

Ambition and personal interests are not the only causes of tribunician strife in

Books 21-45. Some of the more rancorous tribunes appear to be driven by sheer

recalcitrance towards the political élite. In most such cases the narrative is

characteristically silent about the motives of the tribunes in question, but the rhetoric

attributed to them vividly conveys their contumacy. The clearest example of this

attitude is that of Q. Baebius, the tribune whose speeches strengthen the popular

opposition to the declaration of a second Macedonian war (31.6.3-6). Livy

characterises Baebius as a throwback from the ‘Struggle of the Orders’ who ‘attacked

the fathers by making accusations in the ancient way’ (31.6.4: uiam antiquam

criminandi patres ingressus). His allegations that the senators are trying to oppress

the plebs by forcing continuous wars on them hark back to the class-based rhetoric

417 Gracchus’ inimicitiae with Scipio is mentioned repeatedly in the account of the ‘Trials of the

Scipiones’: 38.52.9; 38.53.6; 38.57.4.

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(N.B. the opposition of patres and plebs) of the tribunes in Livy’s first pentad, and to

their tactic of inciting seditio as a means of resisting/disrupting patrician rule. They

are also baseless and, in the absence of any mention of ulterior motives, come across

as driven by nothing but a kind of archaic tribunician proclivity for undermining

auctoritas senatus. Q. Baebius Herennius and C. Publicius Bibulus deploy the same

inflammatory argument – that Rome’s leaders are using war to keep the plebs

oppressed – to attack their nobilis enemies in their invectives.418 As mentioned above,

these tribunes do have other, more personal motives for their diatribes. But if they are

not motivated simply by opposition to the authority of the élite, as the Baebius of the

Macedonian rogatio appears to be, their arguments are no less fallacious and their

rhetoric no less extreme, and they contribute to the impression that tribunes of the

plebs have a peculiar propensity for sedition. The sense that this propensity is a relic

of ancient plebeio-patrician discords, explicitly evoked at 31.6.4, is also present in

Livy’s account of the controversy that attended the candidacy of C. Varro and which

elicited Herennius’ attacks on the senate in the first place. Contests of this sort,

between populist noui homines and cliquish nobiles, were a regular feature of the

plebeio-patrician Republic, but Livy associates it instead with the earlier struggles for

access to the consulate by juxtaposing patres and plebs. In this context a demagogic

tribune who rails against the patres is not at all out of place. And since the basis of

his argument in favour of Varro’s candidacy is the need for new military leadership,

his accusation that the nobiles are deliberately prolonging the war is not inappropriate,

however libellous it may be. The same cannot be said of Publicius’ argument to the

same effect. For, although he wants to strip the nobilis Marcellus of his command, he

is not represented as arguing in favour of a nouus replacement. The tribune’s attack

on the nobiles’ leadership of the war comes across as nothing more than an outrageous

calumny. It reinforces the impression that reckless antagonism towards the political

leadership of the res publica is an enduring, possibly even inherent characteristic of

the tribunate and of the sort of men the office attracts.

Whether they are motivated by ambitio, personal alliances and enmities, or by

sheer rebelliousness, the disruptive tribunes of Books 21-45 are alike in acting either

alone or in pairs, without the general support of the college. As the previous chapter

418 Herennius: 22.34.3-4, 7-8; Publicius: 27.21.2. On the calumnious argument that the nobiles use war

to oppress the populus, see the section on the rhetoric deployed against Fabius Maximus in the next

chapter (4.2.2).

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showed, Livy’s depiction of the tribunes who act for the benefit of the res publica

(with the notable exception of Ti. Sempronius Gracchus) conveys a sense of

collegiality and concord, and this in turn throws the individualism of their more

turbulent colleagues into sharp relief. In a few cases, Livy foregrounds this

individualism by depicting the opposition of other members of the college to their

rogue fellows.419 More often, however, the narrative’s silence regarding the other

tribunes is what gives the impression that their colleagues are alone in disrupting

public affairs or pursuing dangerous goals. In reality, of course, it only took a single

tribune’s intercessio to block a contentious bill or bring a malicious prosecution to a

halt. Those tribunes who did not provoke tribunician opposition must have had their

colleagues’ tacit consent to pursue disruptive policies, if not their support. But Livy’s

silence obscures the frequent acquiescence of the college in such policies, and affirms

instead the threat to concordia and good government posed by office-holders who

pursue their goals without regard for the opinions of their colleagues. In the AUC

tribunician disorders, like those caused by other magistrates, originate for the most

part in the reckless self-interest of individuals.

This is not to say that every instance of acrimony involving tribunes originates

with the actions of solitary, rancorous individuals. Book 39 contains three examples

of tribunician contentiones in which no tribunes are referred to by name; instead, in

each case Livy gives the impression that the college was divided more-or-less evenly

over a political matter. First, in the consular elections of 185, the historian reports that

there were ‘great disputes’ among the tribunes over the appropriateness of the consul

App. Claudius Pulcher’s canvassing for his brother Publius: the tribunes ‘fought either

against the consul or out of zeal for him’, and because of their contentiones ‘the

assembly was thrown into confusion several times’ (39.32.12: magnis contentionibus

tribunorum quoque plebis, qui aut contra consulem aut pro studio eius pugnabant,

comitia aliquotiens turbata). Later, there is another ‘great dispute’, magna contentio,

over whether the armies of Hispania should be allotted to the new praetors or remain

419 E.g. Livy’s note that P. Rutilius’ bill to annul the contracts let by the censors Gracchus and Pulcher

was submitted ‘under the name of one tribune’, sub unius tribuni nomine (43.16.6), succinctly reveals that the tribune did not have his colleagues’ support; Livy had no other reason to point this out, since

there was nothing exceptional about a single member of the college proposing legislation: Briscoe

2012: 441.

141

under their current commanders (39.38.8).420 Each side in this debate has support

from tribunes and a consul: the tribunes on one side threaten to veto any senatus

consultum to recall the current commanders, while the tribunes on the other threaten

to halt all public business if their opponents veto the senatus consultum (39.38.9).

Finally, there is a heated dispute among the tribunes over the legitimacy of the curule

aedile-elect Q. Fulvius Flaccus’ candidacy for the praetorship left vacant by the death

of C. Decimius. Once again, the college is divided, one ‘part of the tribunes of the

plebs’, pars tribunorum plebis, against allowing a man to stand for or hold two curule

offices at once, the other pars in favour of allowing the people to elect whomever it

wished to high office (39.39.3-4). 421 Fulvius refuses to drop out of the electoral

contest despite the pleas of the consul L. Porcius (39.39.8-12), and there is a ‘great

argument among the tribunes, both between themselves and with the consul’

(39.39.13: ingens certamen tribunis et inter se ipsos et cum consule fuit). In this case,

as in the two preceding, the tribunician college appears to be divided to the point of

deadlock, and here as in the other episodes the impasse caused by the tribunes’

discordia has to be resolved externally, by the senate (on which, see section 3.2.3

below).

At the beginning of this section, it was emphasised that in the AUC tribunician

disturbances are usually to be explained by the motives of the tribunes responsible,

and not by the use of the tribunates’ extensive powers per se. This is true of the general

impression that Livy gives in Book 21-45, but the three episodes constitute a

noteworthy exception. Together, they illustrate the tribunate’s capacity to exacerbate

political discord even when the office’s powers are not being misused to serve the

personal goals of individuals. There is no suggestion in any of these episodes that the

tribunes involved are motivated by private interests; the tribunes’ discordia therefore

appears to arise from genuine differences of opinion about the morally-ambiguous

matters under consideration. Yet their discordia, despite its legitimacy, and despite

the absence of private motives or malicious intentions, nevertheless disrupts political

420 The praetors currently in the two Spanish provinces wanted to be recalled with their armies to Rome

to celebrate triumphs (39.38.5-6), but apparently the new praetors had no desire to take command of

these provinces with only fresh, inexperienced troops: Walsh 1994: 153; Briscoe 2008: 346. 421 Holding two offices simultaneously had been forbidden by the lex Genucia of 342 (7.42.2);

regardless of the historicity of this law, its mention in the AUC means that it possessed legal force in

Livy’s literary res publica: cf. Walsh 1994: 154; Feig Vishnia 1996: 120-1; Briscoe 2008: 349. On the

lex Genucia and Livy 7.42.2 see Oakley 1998: 23-6.

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life. This is a worrying revelation, as it suggests that the powers of the tribunate can

threaten the concordia of the Roman state even when they are not being abused.

3.2.2 The consequences of tribunician misconduct

In his argument with Aburius, Gracchus takes it for granted that the self-interested

use of the powers of a magistracy, especially the tribunate, is immoral and so sets a

bad exemplum for future office-holders (39.5.2-5). The exempla provided by Books

21-45, however, demonstrate that using the tribunate’s powers for personal goals can

have serious and even dangerous consequences.

Livy shows that, at the very least, abusing the tribunate’s power causes or

exacerbates discordia. The capacity of the tribunate to aggravate political conflicts is

apparent even from cases which do not necessarily entail the abuse of tribunicia

potestas: witness the effect of the tribunes’ participation in the three contentiones in

Book 39, discussed above. These episodes demonstrate how the tribunes’ ability to

advocate a cause before a contio and their right to veto their colleagues’ and other

magistrates’ decisions could disrupt public business and intensify political divisions.

This lesson is made even more clearly by the tribunes Livy depicts as abusing their

powers, such the Sempronii in the contest over the censorship (37.57.12-58.1) and P.

Rutilius in the publicani’s quarrel with the censors Gracchus and Claudius (43.16). In

both cases, the tribunes’ opportunistic intervention in already contentious affairs only

increases discordia, not to mention the shame of those involved in it: the Sempronii’s

prosecution of Glabrio sharpens the divisions in the senate between nobiles and noui

homines, while the Rutilius’ prosecution of the censors widens the rift between the

senate, firmly behind the censors, and the wider Roman élite which included the

publicani.422 The prosecution of the fraudulent publicanus M. Postumius Pyrgensis

by the tribunes Sp. and L. Carvilius stands as an even more troubling exemplum. The

senate had sensibly decided not to risk offending the publicani, on whose services the

state depended at the height of the Hannibalic War, by pursuing one of their number

at that moment, but the tribunes, spurred on by the unpopularity and notoriety of the

matter, imposed a fine on Postumius regardless (25.3.12-13). As argued above, the

422 Livy conveys the extent of this discordia among the upper classes by noting – unusually, for an

historian who shows little interest in psephology – that ‘eight of the twelve centuries of equites and

many others of the first classis’ voted to condemn C. Claudius Pulcher (43.16.14: ex duodecim

centuriis equitum octo censorem condemnassent multaeque aliae primae classis).

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tribunes’ prosecution is motivated by their desire to win the favour of the populus

rather than by any desire to see justice done. Their opportunism and ambition not only

alienates the publicani, as the senate feared, but provokes the publicani to riot at the

concilium plebis (25.3.18); this upheaval may have resulted in bloodshed and, as the

consul Q. Fulvius Flaccus remarks, seditio, had the Carvilii not been convinced by

the consul to dismiss the assembly (25.3.19).

This physical expression of the discordia generated by the tribunes’ actions

has an attendant moral effect, the implications of which are every bit as dangerous as

the riot itself. Fulvius recognises this effect immediately, warning the tribunes that

they have lost their authority and effectively been ‘brought to order’ or ‘humbled’, ‘in

ordinem coactos esse’ (25.3.19), by the rioting publicani. At the meeting of the senate

that follows, this point is reiterated and the full implications of the riot are set out:

Postumium Pyrgensem suffragium populo Romano extorsisse,

concilium plebis sustulisse, tribunos in ordinem coegisse, contra

populum Romanum aciem instruxisse, locum occupasse ut tribunos a

plebe intercluderet, tribus in suffragium uocari prohiberet (25.4.4).

Postumius Pyrgensis had wrested the vote from the Roman people,

brought low the concilium plebis, reduced the tribunes to the ranks,

formed a line of battle against the Roman people, seized ground so as

to cut off the tribunes from the plebs, prevented the tribes from being

called to vote.

The senate recognises that, even though violence has been avoided, the riot had

undermined both the authority of the tribunes and the libertas of the Roman people

as expressed in its right to vote in duly-constituted assemblies. Indeed, the senate

acknowledges that only the willingness of the tribunes to allow themselves and the

plebs to be overcome by the rioters prevented bloodshed (25.4.5-6). This, however,

‘set[s] a harmful precedent’, pernicioso exemplo factam, for anyone willing to use

force to get their way (25.4.7). Thus, though not guilty of violence themselves, by

pursuing Postumius in spite of the decision of the senate not to do so, the tribunes are

responsible for undermining the power of their office and the libertas of the populus

that they are charged to defend. Their exemplum illustrates the negative effects that

reckless and self-interested tribunician acts can have on the moral order on which the

libera res publica rests.

The detrimental impact of the Carvilii’s prosecution on the collective morality

of the Romans has parallels elsewhere in Livy’s depiction of tribunician activity.

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Prosecutions, in particular, threaten to undermine both the authority of the

magistracies and to demoralise the populace, much as the Carvilii’s prosecution

undermined the authority of the tribunate and of the concilium plebis. It is concern for

such moral effects that moves the senate to forbid Cn. Baebius to prosecute the

unpopular censors at 29.37.17. The patres stop the trial from going ahead not because

Salinator and Nero are innocent, but because they fear that allowing censors to be

prosecuted while in office will undermine the populus’ respect for the magistracy and

so ‘make the censorship subject to popular favour hereafter’ (ne postea obnoxia

populari aurae censura esset).423 The senators’ fears are well-founded, for they are

borne out at 43.16, in P. Rutilius’ attack on the censors Gracchus and Pulcher. The

disrespect in which the censorship is held is manifest first by the insolence of the

publicani and Rutilius in seeking to force the censors to auction the public contracts

anew, then by the heckling of Pulcher at the tribune’s contio (43.16.8), and finally by

the censors’ trial, at the instigation of Rutilius, on the ludicrous charge of perduellio

(43.16.11). The entire episode reflects the moral debasement of the Roman populus

(specifically its upper echelons, many of whom vote to condemn Pulcher at 43.16.14)

as well as the waning of magisterial auctoritas, which ought to command the people’s

respect, and once again it is a tribune motivated by private interests who is the

instigator of these manifestations of disrespect and the discordia that follows. As the

preceding chapter demonstrated, Gracchus himself, as a tribune, demonstrates an

awareness of the moral impact of his fellow tribunes’ actions on the populus, when

he argues that the Petillii’s prosecution of Scipio Africanus will bring disgrace upon

them.424

Yet, damaging as they are to the res publica, moral corruption, political

discord, and even the violence of Postumius and the publicani are not the worst

consequences of tribunician misconduct in Books 21-45. On rare occasions, tribunes

of the plebs threaten the very security of Rome and its empire. At 31.6.4, Q. Baebius

423 Cf. M. Metellus’ attempt to prosecute the censors Furius and Atilius, which was blocked by the

other nine tribunes: Livy says nothing of the tribunes’ motives, but his statement that the censors were

‘forbidden’ by the tribunes ‘to plead their cases while in office’ (24.43.3: uetiti causam in magistratu

dicere) invites the reader to interpret this as an attempt to preserve the dignity of the censorship. 424 See 38.52.11: ut sub rostris reum stare et praebere aures adulescentium conuiciis populo Romano

magis deforme quam ipsi sit (‘that for him [sc. Scipio Africanus] to stand as a defendant beneath the Rostra and to subject his ears to the bawling of young men would be a greater dishonour to the Roman

people than to himself’). Cf. Gracchus’ less direct, but no less forceful, attempt to evoke shame at the

threatened imprisonment of L. Scipio, 38.60.5-6.

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temporarily undermines the security of the empire when his inflammatory oratory

emboldens the war-weary populus to vote against initiating a second war against

Philip V of Macedonia. The consul P. Sulpicius Galba’s speech (32.7), as well as

consensus patrum,425 leave no doubt about the necessity of another war to protect not

only Rome’s interests but Italy itself from invasion. The tribune’s unwelcome

involvement in this matter therefore represents a genuine threat to Roman power and

safety. A similar threat is posed by C. Publicius Bibulus’ prosecution of his inimicus

Marcellus. Next to Fabius Maximus Verrucosus, Marcellus has been Rome’s most

valuable commander up to that point in the Hannibalic war. Bibulus’ efforts to

undermine the people’s confidence in Marcellus and to prorogue his command thus

constitutes a threat to the war effort, and very strikingly pits the tribune’s private

interests against the interests of the public. Fortunately for the Romans, in this case

and in the previous one, they allowed themselves to be dissuaded from following the

course of action advocated by the tribune (27.21.4). They were not so lucky in Book

22. In a series of passages in the middle of that book, which will be discussed in detail

in the next chapter, Livy shows how the Romans turned against the dictator Fabius

Maximus’ wise strategy of avoiding full-scale engagements with Hannibal. Two

tribunes of the plebs, M. Metilius and Q. Baebius Herennius, play prominent parts in

this sequence of events: Metilius denounces the cunctator’s leadership and

promulgates a bill to grant the dictator’s magister equitum, M. Minucius Rufus, equal

powers of command (22.25.3-11), and later Herennius, as mentioned above, attacks

not only Fabius but the entire nobilitas in an effort to see his relative Varro elected

consul (22.34.3-11). Both tribunes succeed in their goals, and both successes result in

military defeats. In the first of these, Minucius is at least saved from annihilation by

Fabius; the later defeat of the army under Varro’s command, at the Battle of Cannae,

is total. As exempla illustrating the dangers of allowing demagogic tribunes sway over

military matters, these two episodes could hardly be more persuasive.

With exempla such as these and the others discussed above, Livy demonstrates

the dire public consequences of tribunes’ private feuds and ambitions. He shows that,

425 The senate’s support for the war is anticipated by its approval of Galba’s proposal that sacrifices

and prayers to be offered for the start of a new war at 31.5.3-4. The patres give their assent to a

Macedonian war in their reply to the Athenian legatio, in which they proclaim that one of the consuls

will be assigned Macedonia as his province (31.5.9). Their support for the war is reiterated by their

anger at Baebius and the people for the initial rejection of the rogatio (31.6.5-6), and by Galba himself

in his speech (31.7.14).

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even at the apogee of Roman concordia, the tribunate could and did sow discordia,

undermine the sanctity of Rome’s institutions and the moral order upon which they

rested, and, under certain circumstances, imperil the empire and the state itself. None

of this is unprecedented, of course: in the earlier books of the AUC too, tribunes

provoke internal strife and incite the populus against the patres, and occasionally

imperil Rome itself by leading or threatening secessiones. Books 21-45 therefore

reinforce the dangers associated with the tribunate, and with the abuse of the

tribunate’s power in particular. What distinguishes the tribunes’ rôle in the later books

is not that the tribunate has become innocuous, but that, without losing its potential

for disruption, it has been integrated into the Roman system of government and

thereby gained regular functions that are necessary and beneficial to the res publica.

As the previous chapter showed, these functions occupy more space in Livy’s later

books than the abuses of tribunician power discussed above. The positive aspects of

the tribunate are more abundantly in evidence, but its propensity for political

disruption lingers throughout Livy’s extant narrative.

But although the later disruptions follow the pattern of causes and effects

established in the earlier books, the nature of the threat posed by these disturbances is

not entirely static. In the third decade of the AUC, as in the first, the greatest danger

posed by turbulent tribunes is to Rome’s safety from external threats. The

undermining of the strategy of cunctatio and the defeat at Cannae in which it results

is the most striking exemplum in Books 21-45 of the effects that unchecked tribunician

activity can have, but it has no parallel in the remaining books. In the fourth and fifth

decades, as Rome’s wars cease to be fought on the Italian peninsula, so the tribunes

cease to pose a threat to Rome’s safety from external danger; the only time Italy faces

invasion is at the very start of the fourth decade, and this is also the last time in Livy’s

extant books that a tribune of the plebs, Q. Baebius, interferes dangerously in military

matters, in the contentio over the declaration of war on Macedonia. On the domestic

front, however, there is some suggestion that the effects of tribunician activity are

getting worse. The two prosecutions of censors by tribunes discussed above illustrate

this phenomenon. In Book 29 the patres are able to prevent Cn. Baebius from

launching a trial that will bring the censorship into disrepute; in Book 43, however,

the patres are impotent to halt Rutilius’ campaign against censors who are far less

blameworthy than their predecessors in the earlier episode, and the discordia that the

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tribune’s prosecution generates confirms the earlier senators’ worst fears.426 Only the

moral authority of one of the censors, Gracchus, averts the complete disaster, and only

at the last minute (43.16.15-16). Between the two episodes, the capacity of individual

tribunes to throw public affairs and the established social and political order into

chaos, despite opposition from the leading men of the state, appears to have increased,

while the ability of the patres to curtail the excesses of the people and their tribunes

seems to have declined. The effect feared by the senate in Book 29, that subjecting

serving censors to a prosecution would put the censorship at the mercy of popular

will, also appears to have come to pass from the number of votes cast by the affronted

segment of the populus, the equestrian and first classis centuries to which the

publicani belonged, against the censor Pulcher (43.16.14). A comparison between the

two prosecutions suggests that the relationship between self-serving tribunes and the

populus has become more dangerous to concordia of the state following the

Hannibalic War. This is not to say that his account of domestic affairs describes

anything like a steady worsening of the tribunate’s influence on the populus. A

somewhat more progressive decline in the tribunate’s public rôle is evident in

tribunes’ involvement in élite competition over honores, of which there are more

examples in the last fifteen extant books of the AUC than there are in the preceding

ten. To the instances of the entire college becoming embroiled in electoral contests

(39.32.12; 39.39.13-14) and the distribution of provincial commands (39.38.8-10) in

Book 39, one may add the Sempronii’s involvement in the campaign for the

censorship (37.57.12-58.1), and several tribunician interventions in controversies

over ouationes and triumphs.427 The tribunes’ involvement in these matters is often

explicitly partisan, and even when it is not the cause of political discord it does

nothing to resolve it. The concentration of these episodes in the last of Livy’ extant

books does suggest that the tribunate was becoming a more disruptive factor in the

internal contests of the political élite as the narrative progressed, and as élite

competition itself became more fierce. The evidence is sparse, but it appears that, as

the danger from external enemies diminished, self-interested or partisan tribunes

426 Rutilius’ prosecution of the censors can also be compared with the earlier attempt to do the same

by Metellus at 24.43.2-3, in which the other tribunes prevented the censors from being brought to trial.

On the apparent reluctance of Rutilius’ colleagues to prevent the trial, see the discussion in sections

3.2.3 below. 427 Triumphs: 33.22; 35.8.9; 36.39.6-10; 39.4.3-4; 45.36.1; ouationes: 31.20.5-6; 32.7.4. On these

disputes see Pittenger 2008.

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began to pose more of a threat to Rome’s internal concord. Worse was to come in the

AUC, and it is likely that the episodes in the last of Livy’s extant books represent the

beginnings of a negative trend in tribunician activity, which would see tribunes

exacerbating discordia among Rome’s élite and stirring up the populus against them.

3.2.3 Containing tribunician discordia

Whatever upheavals lay ahead in the lost books of the AUC, in Books 21-45 tribunes

rarely disturb the harmony of the res publica for long. With a handful of significant

exceptions (which will be discussed in the next chapter), disruptive tribunician

behaviour is generally countered and its damage limited by the senate, or by other

magistrates, or indeed by other tribunes of the plebs. As mentioned, there is no single

or unified method of dealing with difficult tribunes in the AUC, but some patterns do

emerge from Livy’s treatment of the subject, and these reveal quite a lot about the

nature of the tribunate and its place in his version of the Roman state.

The most obvious obstacle to tribunician excess lay with the tribunes

themselves. The power of intercessio gave any tribune the right to veto the actions of

any of his colleagues; in theory, this meant that it only required one of the ten tribunes

to curtail any disruptive or dangerous behaviour by his colleagues. In the first century,

the logic of this arrangement was deployed to defend the tribunate and justify

retaining it. Cicero puts the axiom into the mouth of the character that bears his name

in the De legibus for this purpose,428 and Livy follows suit. In his second book, the

historian has Ap. Claudius make the point to his fellow senators:

Ap. Claudius uictam tribuniciam potestatem dicere priore anno, in

praesentia re, exemplo in perpetuum, quando inuentum sit suis ipsam

uiribus dissolui. neque enim unquam defuturum qui ex collega

uictoriam sibi et gratiam melioris partis bono publico uelit quaesitam;

et plures, si pluribus opus sit, tribunos ad auxilium consulum paratos

fore, et unum uel aduersus omnes satis esse. darent modo et consules

et primores patrum operam ut, si minus omnes, aliquos tamen ex

tribunis rei publicae ac senatui conciliarent (2.44.2-4).

Ap. Claudius said that the tribunician power had been overcome in the

previous year, was overcome in the current situation, and was forever

overcome through the example, since there was a way to undo it with

its own force. For there would never be lacking someone who wanted

both a victory for himself sought at the expense of a colleague and the

428 Cic. Leg. 3.24: quod enim est tam desperatum collegium in quo nemo e decem sana mene sit? (‘For

what college is so hopeless that none of the ten in it is of sound mind?’)

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favour of the better types sought for the public good; and there would

be several tribunes, if several were necessary, ready to help the consuls,

and one would be enough, though all [the others] were opposed. Just

let both the consuls and the foremost of the fathers make an effort so

that, if not all, some, however, of the tribunes would be won over to the

res publica and the senate.

Senators appeal to this axiom later in the AUC (N.B. 4.48.5-9), and in Books 21-45

there are indeed occasions on which tribunes are restrained by their colleagues. When

M. Metellus tries to bring the censors Furius and Atilius to trial because of a personal

grievance, the other nine tribunes simply forbid the censors to stand trial while in

office (24.43.2-3). Ti. Gracchus pre-emptively vetoes any attempt by the Petillii to try

Scipio Africanus in absentia (38.52.10). Nor is intercessio the only recourse available

to tribunes who want to restrain their colleagues, as Gracchus shows, first by

convincing the Petillii to abandon their pursuit of Africanus (38.52.11-53.5) and then

by convincing Aburius to withdraw his veto (39.5.1-6), by the sheer moral force of

his arguments.

Yet these examples are exceptional, for in fact Livy more commonly depicts

tribunes failing to restrain their colleagues. The power of intercessio turns out to be

less decisive than Ap. Claudius suggests. After all, vetoes can be withdrawn, and not

just in the face of good arguments or moral auctoritas. Q. and L. Mummius drop their

opposition to the Petillii’s bill to investigate the money taken from Antiochus III in

the face of Cato’s auctoritas, brought to bear here not for the public good but in the

service of his personal enmity towards the Scipiones. 429 M. and P. Iunius Brutus

withdraw their veto against M. Fundanius and L. Valerius’ bill to repeal the lex Oppia

under duress when their house is besieged by women (34.8.1-2). Moreover, the

efficacy of the veto is limited when the tribunician college is evenly split over some

matter: the Bruti’s opposition to the repeal bill did not kill it off, nor did the threats of

mutual intercessio resolve the dispute over the Spanish commands at 39.38.9. All of

these cases revolve around genuinely controversial matters, over which the élite

appears to have been divided, at least for a time. But there are other occasions on

which the college failed to restrain one of its members, despite seemingly unanimous

opposition to that member in the senate. The most notorious case is that of Q.

429 The Mummii’s veto: 38.54.5; withdrawn under pressure from Cato: 38.54.11: M. Cato… Mummios

tribunos auctoritate deterruit ne aduersarentur rogationi (‘M. Cato…prevented the tribunes, the

Mummii, from opposing the bill with his auctoritas’).

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Claudius’ bill to limit the capacity of the ships owned by senators (21.63.3-4). Livy

emphasises the near-unanimity of senatorial opposition to the bill by claiming that C.

Flaminius alone of that order supported it, yet still the law passed. The historian’s

silence does not conceal the fact that, on this occasion, not one tribune could be found

who was willing to triumph at his colleague’s expense and win the favour of the

senatorial order. The same is true of Rutilius’ rogatio and his subsequent prosecution

of the censors. In the first instance Livy stresses Rutilius’ isolation from his colleagues

by remarking that the tribune’s bill bore only his name (43.16.6: sub unius tribuni

nomine), but his lack of support from his colleagues evidently failed to develop into

actual opposition, to either his rogatio or his prosecution, and despite the principes’

support for the censors. Again, Livy does not make anything of this, but his failure or

refusal to address the matter directly does not diminish its significance. 430 Livy’s

narrative reveals that the axiom first articulated by Ap. Claudius is a fallacy: the

tribunician college could not always be relied upon to control its members on behalf

of the senate and consuls.

Thus, it often falls to the senate or to individual principes to limit the damage

done by tribunes of the plebs, and in Books 21-45 both are generally up to the task.

Prominent senators are responsible for ameliorating a few of the difficult situations

provoked by tribunes. These men do not have to resort to any formal powers to

overcome their opponents; indeed, the tribunate’s sacrosanctity and right of

intercessio made it effectively impossible even for other magistrates to take direct

action against tribunes. Nevertheless, Livy shows that the leading men in the state are

sometimes able to overcome rancorous or recalcitrant tribunes with the ‘soft power’

of rhetoric, by combining reasoned argument with assertions of auctoritas. His

account of the consul P. Sulpicius Galba’s response to the initial refusal of the

assembly to vote for a new Macedonian war is illustrative. The tribune at the heart of

this episode, Q. Baebius, is not solely responsible for the first vote – Livy attributes

the result to the war-weariness of the populus (31.6.3) – but his insinuations that the

senate is using continuous war to oppress the plebs (31.6.4) have not helped the

430 Here again Livy may be attempting to downplay the extant of internal conflict and the limitations

of senatorial control in the late third and early second centuries. A telling comparison can be made

with the failure of the opposition to the C. Valerius Tappo’s rogatio (38.36.7-8): the four tribunes

initially veto the bill because it has not been put to the populus ex auctoritate senatus, but significantly

Livy does not indicate that the senate itself opposed the bill. Hence, the tribunes’ withdrawal of their

intercessiones cannot be interpreted as a failure to defend senatorial interests, nor Valerius’ success as

a victory over the senate.

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situation. Galba does not address Baebius directly, but his speech at 31.7 does respond

to the tribune’s allegations, and in the course of convincing the people to support the

war the consul refutes the claim that the war is intended simply to keep the plebs from

even enjoying peace. Galba spends most of his time convincing his audience of the

necessity of war by invoking historical exempla (31.7.2-13), and ends by reasserting

the auctoritas patrum that the tribune’s diatribes were intended to undermine by

instructing his listeners to ‘ “Go and vote…and order that which the patres have

decided” ’ (31.7.14: ‘ite in suffragium…et quae patres censuerunt uos iubete’). The

combination of reason and the appeal to the traditional deference owed to the senate

undoes any lingering influence the tribune’s demagogic rhetoric may have had, and

the people duly vote for war (31.8.1).

Other exempla of a leading political figure using oratory and auctoritas to rein

in a troublemaking tribune are not quite as neat. Livy’s version of Scipio Africanus’

response to the Petillii’s accusations (38.51.7-12), for example, does not address the

tribunes’ allegations at all. Rather, by evoking the memory of his greatest

achievement, his victory at Zama, the great man uses his charisma and the reverence

that the people still hold for him to undermine the tribunes’ attempt to bring him to

account. The episode pits the legal authority of the tribunes against Scipio’s personal

and still considerable auctoritas, and the latter overcomes the former. It is left to

Gracchus to counter the Petillii’s efforts to put Scipio on trial with a reasoned and

moral argument. In contrast, Livy’s curt summary of Marcellus’ reply to the tribune

Bibulus’ accusations focuses on his argument: ‘This speech of the tribune Marcellus

so refuted with the recollection of his deeds that not only was the bill to abrogate his

command voted down, but the following day all the centuries elected him consul by

an enormous consensus’ (27.21.4: hanc tribuni orationem ita obruit Marcellus

commemoratione rerum suarum ut non rogatio solum de imperio eius abrogando

antiquaretur, sed postero die consulem eum ingenti consensu centuriae omnes

crearent). Despite its brevity, Livy’s summary of Marcellus’ reply clearly conveys

the idea that the man’s argument, rather than his personal auctoritas, countered or

overcame (obruit) the tribune’s allegations. Like Africanus, Marcellus invokes the

memory of his achievements in his defence, but unlike Africanus he does so in direct

response to Bibulus’ attacks, to correct the invidious interpretation of the general’s

campaigns that the tribune advocated, not to distract his audience from those attacks.

Scipio’s use of his private auctoritas to outmanoeuvre the Petillii is, despite his

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innocence of their accusations, more problematic than Marcellus’ straightforward

effort to disprove Bibulus’ allegations. Both men, however, succeed in putting a stop

to tribunician activity that Livy depicts as malicious (albeit only momentarily in the

case of Scipio’s persecution).

But Livy shows that the power of individuals to control tribunician

disturbances is limited. Reasoned argument and appeals to auctoritas, even auctoritas

patrum, do not always succeed, even against tribunes whose motives are not self-

interested or seditious. The certamen between the tribunes C. and L. Arrenius and the

dictator Q. Fulvius Flaccus at 27.6.2-11 is a salient example. The tribunes’ challenge

to Fulvius reflects a concern for the public good: their objection to the prospect of the

dictator’s election by the comitia over which he presides arises from legitimate

concerns about the extension of magisterial powers beyond traditional bounds and the

foedius exemplum his election could set (27.6.4). The reply that Livy attributes to

Fulvius is equally reasonable, countering the Arrenii’s objections ‘with the authority

of the senate, with the enactment of the plebs, and with precedents’ (27.6.6: dictator

causam comitiorum auctoritate senatus, plebis scito, exemplis tutabatur). The

dictator cites a law, passed after Flaminius’ death at Trasummenus, that authorised

the people to elect whomever they wished, as often as they wished, to the consulate,

as long as there was war in Italy. He stresses the law’s legal and moral authority by

relating, in legalistic language, that it was ‘brought before the plebs by the authority

of the fathers, and the plebs enacted’ it (27.6.7: ex auctoritate patrum ad plebem latum

plebemque sciuisse ut…). In doing so, he enlists auctoritas patrum and plebis scitum

to his cause, and he fortifies the moral strength of his case with exempla, the most

authoritative being that of Fabius Maximus, who was elected to consecutive

consulates in 215-214 and who, Fulvius assures his audience, ‘would surely never

have allowed his consulate to be extended unless it was in the public interest’ (27.6.8:

sibi continuari consulatum nisi id bono publico fieret profecto nunquam sisset). The

case Livy attributes to Fulvius’ is thus well-founded, but it does not persuade the

tribunes to withdraw their intercessio. The dictator and the tribunes argue for a long

time until, unable to resolve their impasse, all agree to abide by the decision of the

senate (27.6.9). The episode reveals that even well-meaning tribunes may not be

amenable to reasoned, authoritative argument, even when the argument is made by as

imposing a figure as Q. Fulvius Flaccus. The senate is forced to resolve what the

dictator and the tribunes cannot settle between themselves. In the event, military

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necessity trumps the tribunes’ concerns about the traditional limitations of magisterial

power: the patres decide to allow Fulvius to stand because, under the current

circumstances, Rome needs old and experienced generals (27.6.10), and the tribunes

accept their decision (27.6.11).

This is far from the only tribunician certamen that the senate has to resolve.

Several cases, like the one just discussed, involve tribunes who are motivated by

concern for mos maiorum. M. Fulvius and M’. Currius object to T. Quinctius

Flamininus’ candidacy for the consulate on the grounds that hitherto he has only held

a quaestorship (32.7.8-9). Though it was not strictly illegal before the passage of the

lex Villia annalis in 180, it was not traditional for a man to bypass the lower

magistracies. And, as the tribunes argue (32.7.10), by treating the lesser offices with

contempt the nobiles were aspiring to the consulate without first giving proof of their

worthiness. The tribunes’ interest in preserving the traditional cursus honorum stems

from their desire to ensure that Rome’s consuls are fit for office, and perhaps also to

ensure that the aedilate and the praetorship are not deprived of talent. Their threatened

intercessio apparently fails to convince Flamininus to drop out of the race, however:

Livy reports curtly that ‘The matter passed from the quarrel on the Campus into the

senate’ (32.7.11: res ex campestri certamine in senatum peruenit). Once again the

patres have to resolve a dispute between tribunes and a candidate for high office (and

once again they decide in favour of letting the people choose whomever they wish:

32.7.11). As in the previous case, the tribunes, to their credit, acquiesce in the

senators’ auctoritas (32.7.12: in auctoritate patrum fuere tribuni). 431 Another

comparable episode, the candidacy of Q. Fulvius Flaccus for the praetorship when he

had already been elected to the curule aedilate (39.39), has been mentioned already.

In this case, instead of a straightforward dispute between the would-be candidate and

objecting tribunes, the certamen involves one of the consuls, L. Porcius, and tribunes

on both sides of the debate (39.39.3-4, 13). Since no solution is forthcoming, the

consul turns to the senate, which ingeniously resolves the matter by decreeing that

there are already enough praetors (39.39.13-15).

431 Cf. the tribunes’ objections to the premature candidacy of P. Scipio, the future Africanus, which are

withdrawn because of the overwhelming fauor that Scipio elicits from the assembled citizens. This

case is problematic, because the tribunes submit to the will of a priuatus rather than to senatus

auctoritas: see Chapter 4.1.1.

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These episodes do not necessarily reflect badly on the individual tribunes

involved, since the tribunes seem to be acting out of concern for the public good. They

do, however, reveal something problematic in the nature of the tribunate. In an evenly-

divided college, the tribunes’ power to veto one another effectively means that their

discordia can last indefinitely. The risk that discord within the tribunician college

poses to public business is demonstrated by the deadlock over the recall of the armies

from Hispania at 39.38.8-10. On one side of the dispute the tribunes threaten to veto

any senatus consultum that orders the current armies in Hispania home; on the other,

they vow to block the transaction of any public business if the opposing tribunes

deploy their veto as threatened (39.38.9). The threat to the day-to-day government of

Rome appears to have carried more weight with the senate, which decides in favour

of the new praetors and sends them to Hispania with additional troops (39.38.10).

Here again the senate resolves the tribunes’ internal dispute, but the sense that the

danger posed to government influenced the patres’ decision is difficult to avoid. But

this case, which is in some ways comparable to the collective failure to prevent Q.

Claudius’ bill from passing, is not typical of the senate’s interventions to resolve

tribunician certamina. More often, the patres succeed in inducing tribunes to

acknowledge and submit to their collective auctoritas.

Though none is as severe as those in Livy’s earlier books, there are many

tribunician disturbances in Books 21-45. Most of these moments of discordia have

their origins in the same selfish impulses that drive other magistrates and leading

citizens to pursue disruptive policies, namely ambitio and personal connections –

rivalries and friendships. But the distinctive character of the tribunate makes it an

unusually potent force for political disruption, more so, indeed, than the curule

magistracies in these books. The analysis of tribunician troubles above shows that the

exceptional powers wielded by the tribunes of the plebs makes it possible for them to

create discordia even when those powers are used with the best intentions, for

example in defence of mos maiorum. And when they are not used with good

intentions, the tribunate has the capacity to create or exacerbate discordia within the

polity, undermine the moral order on which the polity is based, and in the right

circumstances even threaten the polity’s safety from its external enemies.

The individual examples of tribunician trouble cited in this chapter constitute

only a small proportion of the acts performed by tribunes in Books 21-45. Moreover,

the chief magistrates, other tribunes, and above all the senate are almost always able

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to resolve disputes involving tribunes and bring dangerous tribunes to heel. For this

reason, tribunician tumults rarely threaten the internal stability or the good

governance of the res publica for long. But there are hints in the AUC that this

situation has begun to deteriorate after the Hannibalic War, with tribunes playing a

more frequently negative rôle in politics, particuarly in contests among the élite over

honores. This would suggest that even as early as Books 31-45 Livy begins to offer

his reader glimpses of the downward trajectory of Rome’s political fortunes, in which

self-interested tribunes of the plebs would play no small part.

3.3 Oratory in Roman politics

It will be clear from the discussion above that oratory plays a prominent rôle in both

causing and ameliorating political strife in Books 21-45. This reflects the reality of

Republican period politics. Matters were considered and debated in the senate by

means of discrete speeches, with each senator in turn and according to rank being

asked to give his sententiae. Speeches in public, at contiones, also played a real part

in politics, though whether these speeches actually managed to persuade audiences

according to the suasio/dissuasio paradigm is debated.432

In literary terms, of course, oratory in the AUC often serves to dramatise

confrontation and conflict and to convey the arguments, sentiments, and feelings of

the participants in a more interesting and evocative manner. While speeches always

have a function in Livy’s narrative, they do not necessarily affect the course of the

narrative.

One of the most intense political struggles in the AUC, the controversy over

repealing the lex Oppia at 34.1.1-8.3 centres on a pair of opposing speeches, and yet

these speeches have no influence on the course of events. The lex Oppia, passed at

the height of the Hannibalic War, banned women from wearing expensive clothing

and large amounts of gold, and from riding in carriages in Rome (34.1.3). In 195,

however, two tribunes, M. Fundanius and L. Valerius Tappo, proposed the law’s

abrogation: there were debates between the law’s supporters and its opponents, and

Roman matrons took to the streets to beg men to repeal the law (34.1.4-6). Livy

depicts the debate over the lex Oppia through two long speeches in oratio recta: the

432 See Mouritsen’s 2017: 85-94 critical assessment of the idea that contiones served as occasions of

genuine debate. The suasio/dissuasio model of contional ‘debates’, see Mommsen 1887: 3.394-4;

Mouritsen 2017: 83-5.

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case against repealing the law is voiced by the consul M. Porcius Cato (34.2-4), the

case for repealing the law by its sponsor L. Valerius Tappo, tribune of plebs (34.5-7).

Cato’s speech is noteworthy for being the only one Livy puts in the mouth of this

famous figure – and for its failure. The speech Livy has composed for Cato is long

and elaborate, and intended to reflect the orator’s famous severity and moral

conservatism.433 Cato argues against repealing the lex Oppia by warning his audience

against luxury, luxuria, and greed, auaritia, of which the women’s desire to overturn

the law is a symptom and a portent. Cato appeals to ancestral precedents as a way of

emphasising the moral decline reflected by the current circumstances, above all by

the matrons’ greed and their blatant intrusion into public affairs. The consul goes on

to warn his audience about the dangers of luxuria and the auaritia it provokes, which,

he claims, bring about the ruin of states. Cato’s oration makes good use of historical

exempla and offers a grave warning against the moral corruption caused by luxury,

and yet it has no discernible effect. Livy does not describe how Cato’s speech, or

Valerius’ rebuttal, are received by their audience. The next day, however, after a

crowd of women manages to intimidate two tribunes, M. and P. Iunius Brutus, into

dropping their opposition to the vote, Livy states that ‘After that there was no question

that all the tribes would vote to repeal the law’ (34.8.2-3: nulla deinde dubitatio fuit

quin omnes tribus legem abrogarent). Thus Cato’s fine speech, and indeed that of his

opponent, fails completely to persuade the Romans to resist the matrons’ demands.

Livy’s depiction of the failure of Cato, who by the historian’s time was almost

synonymous with traditional virtues, is at first glance surprising. John Briscoe took

this as evidence that Livy ‘has no real sympathy’ with Cato’s ‘attitude’ in the

speech.434 But Jane Chaplin has pointed out that Cato’s concerns with luxuria and

auaritia (34.4.2) mirror those that Livy himself bemoans in his praefatio (11); both

the preface (11) and Cato (34.4.13) also refer positively to paupertas and

parsimonia.435 These verbal and thematic parallels indicate that Cato’s speech is

meant to reflect Livy’s own thoughts on the historical impact of luxuria on Roman

society, on its rôle in Rome’s moral and societal decline. Livy expects his audience

to understand that Cato’s ominous predictions about the harmful effects of luxury and

433 Walsh 1961: 228. 434 Briscoe 1981: 39-42. 435 Chaplin 2000: 98-9.

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greed are accurate, in part because the wisdom of the likes of Cato was ignored by

their ancestors.436 Here too the speech’s external audience can learn from its internal

audience’s failure to heed good advice.

But many of the speeches discussed in detail or in passing above do affect the

course of politics, for better or for worse, as well as manifesting a character’s

personality or concerns or dramatising a debate. A single, ordinary example is enough

to demonstrate this.

The case of the assembly’s initial refusal to endorse the new war with

Macedonia has been discussed in some detail already. Here is a case in which two

orations, one mentioned in passing oratio obliqua (31.6.4), the other recounted at

length in oratio recta (31.7), convey two sides of a politically significant argument.

Q. Baebius’ speech does not play a strong causal rôle, since, as Livy stresses, the plebs

were already worn-out by war and as such ready to vote against the bill (31.6.3).

Nevertheless, Baebius exploits this war-weariness to attack the senate for not allowing

the people a moment’s peace (31.6.4). The next day, the consul P. Sulpicius Galba

calls another assembly to vote on the motion again: before the vote he gives a speech

in which he stresses the necessity of a Macedonian War, the desirability of a pre-

emptive strike (31.7.2-13), and concludes by urging his audience to accept the

senate’s decision, noting that the consuls and the gods already support war (31.7.14-

15). This time, the motion is passed by the assembly.

Baebius’ invectives may have succeeded in fortifying the people’s resolve to

disregard the senatorial edict, but Galba’s oration changes the people’s minds by

using rational arguments for the necessity of war, and by emphasising the respect

owed to the collective wisdom of the senate and to divine omens. The significance of

this episode is not hard to understand. The speeches of Baebius and Galba fulfil a

narrative function, succinctly explaining why the bill of war was first rejected and

then passed, without the historian having to offer an explanation in his own voice.

Futhermore, the speeches serve a didactic function, providing Livy’s readers with

exempla designed to inform their own engagement in public affairs. Baebius’ strategy

of attacking the senate is defeated by Galba’s combination of reasoned argument with

an appeal to the deference owed to the senate’s wisdom and authority, its auctoritas.

Galba’s audience is convinced by this speech, and it is obvious that Livy’s reader is

436 Chaplin 2000: 98-9.

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expected to be convinced, too; the reaction of the speech’s internal audience is

intended to guide its external audience’s interpretation of the episode. Through

Galba’s speech, Livy’s reader learns both the specific lesson about why the Second

Macedonian War was necessary, and the more general lesson that the senate ought to

guide public affairs, and that unfounded attacks on the senate are detrimental to the

public good.

Political oratory in the AUC therefore serves a number of purposes, literary,

exemplary, and narratological, and as often as not it serves to ameliorate discordia in

public life. All in all, this reveals little about the actual rôle of oratory in Livian

politics, except that it is a central feature of political life. The following chapter,

however, will shed more light on this aspect of Livian politics by assessing a series

of speech-acts that not only disturb public affairs, but bring Rome to the brink of

destruction.

Conclusion

The preceding analysis shows that the cause of political upheaval in Books 21-45 is

self-interest among the political élite. The desire for renown and honores, personal

alliances and inimicitiae, and sometimes simple rebelliousness generate most of the

disturbances in these books, which also illustrate how dangerous these selfish

impulses can be to internal concord and external security. But Books 21-45 also reveal

the remedia for these vices: cooperation between the magistrates, the tribunes, and

the senate, and ample regard for the auctoritas of the latter. The political virtues that

the previous chapter revealed to be source of concordia are also an effective counter

to discordia. Livy therefore allows the attentive reader to see that possession of these

virtues by the Romans of the past was the reason for the stability and prosperity of

the res publica in ancient times.

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Chapter 4

Discordia Deferred

Introduction

In Books 21-45, as the preceding chapters show, Livy presented his audience with a

vision of the Roman state at its best. Political conflict is not absent in this vision, but

it is generally controlled and its worst effects mitigated through the combined efforts

of magistrates and the senate, working together for the public good. But this is not

always the case, and Livy occasionally offers hints that publicly-minded leaders and

the senate may not always be capable of containing the worst effects of self-interested

politics. This chapter comprises two case studies from the third and fourth decades.

The first, on Scipio Africanus, is pertinent to the political leadership of the res

publica; the second, on the effects of public speeches in the lead up to the Battle of

Cannae, concerns the rôle of oratory in Roman politics. It will be argued that both of

these cases reflect problems that were more familiar to the Romans of the late

Republic, and Livy’s contemporaries, but are less common in his account of Roman

history in Books 21-45.

4.1 Scipio Africanus’ problematic greatness

In Walsh’s opinion, P. Scipio Africanus ‘undoubtedly approaches nearest to Livy’s

ideal Roman.’437 There is no denying Africanus’ place among the foremost of Livy’s

Roman heroes, both for his achievements in the service of his patria, and for his many

outstanding virtues. As the conqueror of Hannibal, the greatest threat to the Romans

after the Gauls who sacked the city, Scipio ranks not only among the imperatores

credited with ending a great war, but stands alongside Camillus as the saviour of

Rome. His ability as a general is unmatched in Books 21-45 – indeed, it is

acknowledged even by his enemy Hannibal.438 And it is not just his personal courage

437 Walsh 1961: 93; he repeats the sentiment in the introduction to his commentary on Book 38 (1993:

5). 438 In the famous exchange between Hannibal and Scipio on the eve of the Battle of Zama: 30.30.4,

12-14. In his prologue to this exchange Livy calls the two men ‘not only the greatest generals of their

own age, but the equals of any kings or commanders of all races, in all previous memory’ (30.30.1:

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and his skill as a strategist and tactician that mark him out as perhaps the greatest

soldier in the extant books of the AUC.439 Livy imbues him with a range of qualities

that enhance his leadership: pietas towards gods, 440 fatherland, and family, 441

clementia and benignitas, 442 disciplina, 443 comitas, 444 charisma, and self-

confidence.445 Many of these virtues are directly opposed to the characteristics of

Hannibal’s leadership. Indeed, some scholars have argued that Livy’s Scipio is the

antithesis of his Hannibal, the former embodying Roman virtues, the latter Punic

vices; by pitting the two generals against one another, this historian creates a contest

between the two sets of national characteristics that the generals instantiate.446 It is

easy to exaggerate this antithesis, however: the Roman and the Carthaginian share

many traits, and in many ways their lives follow similar courses.447 Nevertheless, as

non suae modo aetatis maximi duces, sed omnis ante se memoriae omnium gentium cuilibet regum imperatorumue pares). 439 Even before Scipio takes command of an army his uirtus is highlighted: it is on display in his first

appearance in the AUC, when he rescues his father at the Battle of the Ticinus (21.46.7-8), and stands

out again when despite his youth he volunteers to assume command of his father and uncle’s armies in

Hispania (26.18.6-7), when it seemed that ‘matters were so desperate and the state so hopeless that

nobody dared to take command in Hispania’ (adeo perditas res desperatumque de re publica esse ut

nemo audeat in Hispaniam imperium accipere). Scipio’s ability as a strategist is amply demonstrated

by his campaigns in Hispania and Africa (described in Books 26-8 and 29-30 respectively), his ability

as a tactician by such set piece battles as Baecula (27.18) and Zama (30.32.11-35.9). 440 Livy stresses Scipio’s traditional religious piety by e.g. having him pray in archaic language before

setting out for Africa (29.27.1-4) and again upon sighting his destination (29.27.9), and by remarking

his conscientiousness about his duties as a Salius (37.33.7); Walsh 1961: 94-5 argues plausibly that

this is intended to balance the superstitious elements of the tradition surrounding Scipio. 441 Scipio’s dedication to his patria is revealed in the aftermath of the Battle of Cannae, when he forces

the other young nobiles at sword-point to swear not to abandon Rome: 22.53.6-13; Walsh 1961: 96.

Livy conflates Scipio’s pietas towards his fatherland with his pietas towards his family, beginning with

the young man’s rescue of the consul/his father at the Ticinus (21.46.7-8); see Jaeger 1997: 140-1; Rossi 2004: 364-6. Later, Scipio assumes command of the armies in Hispania that his dead father and

uncle had led, and in his introductory speech to them (26.41.3-25) he emphasises his familial

connection with these soldiers, combining his service to the state with the duty he owes as a son and

nephew; see Rossi 2004: 364-6. On the idea of the patria as parent in Roman thought, see Stevenson

1992, esp. 429-31. 442 E.g. Scipio’s treatment of the Spanish hostages (26.49.8-16); of Allucius and his bride (26.50); of

Masinissa’s nephew Massiva (27.19.8-12); of the mutinous Indibilis and Mandonius (28.34.3-11). See

Walsh 1961: 74, 97; Rossi 2004: 346. 443 N.B. Scipio’s stern treatment of the ringleaders of the mutiny that took place during his illness in

Hispania (28.29.7-12), which contrasts with his clementia towards foreign enemies. 444 E.g. Scipio’s personal embassy to King Syphax, where his geniality wins over both the king and

Hasdrubal: 28.18.6; Walsh 1961: 97. 445 Scipio’s self-confidence is evident early on, from the boldness with which he submits his candidacy

first for the curule aedilate (25.2.6-7) and later for the Spanish command (26.18.7, with 26.19.1-2), in

spite of his youth; cf. Walsh 1961: 96-7. The popular enthusiasm with which he is received on both

occasions reflects (25.2.7; 26.18.8-9, with 26.19.2) his charisma; so, for instance, does the ease with

which he leads the people away from the Petillii’s contio (38.51.6-14). 446 See Burck 1971: 33-4; Rossi 2004: 367-75. 447 Rossi 2004 interprets Livy’s accounts of Scipio and Hannibal as ‘parallel lives’, in which the two

characters illuminate one another by means of their similarities and differences. Complementary

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the chief architect of Rome’s victory in the Second Punic War, Africanus is not only

a hero in the AUC, but to some extent a personification of the ancient virtues, both

martial and more general, that allowed the Romans to defeat their great enemy.

But to say that Scipio comes close to being Livy’s ideal Roman is to

undervalue the significance of politics in the historian’s treatment of Roman leaders.

In his eulogy for Scipio, Livy writes that though ‘A memorable man, he was however

more memorable for the martial than the peaceful arts’ (38.53.9: uir memorabilis,

bellicis tamen quam pacis artibus memorabilior), and goes on to contrast the great

feats of his early life with the less impressive deeds of his mature years (38.53.9-10).

Walsh approves, slightly missing Livy’s point, which is about the relative gloria of

Livy’s earlier and later honores and conquests, when he declares that ‘Livy has no

illusions, nor does he seek to delude us, about Scipio’s stature as a politician’.448 But

Livy does not merely depict Africanus as a forgettable politician, but portrays him as

a problematic figure in Roman politics. Scipio’s place in the Roman polity and his

relations with its leadership are far from ideal, and as a statesman he falls short of

other characters in the AUC such as Fabius Maximus Verrucosus and Ti. Sempronius

Gracchus. In fact, as the following analysis of Livy’s portrayal of Scipio will show,

although his career as a war leader exemplifies the highest virtues, his rôle in domestic

politics is more admonitory than exemplary.

The negative aspects of Livy’s depiction of Africanus as a political figure are

especially striking in view of the historian’s partiality for the man. That Livy favoured

Scipio is apparent from his first appearance.449 The historian mentions that at the

Battle of the Ticinus the consul P. Cornelius Scipio was saved by his son, whom he

identifies as the future conqueror of Hannibal (21.46.7-8). Livy goes on to note that

Coelius Antipater gave a different account, in which the consul was rescued by a

Ligurian slave, but explains that he has credited the young Scipio with the feat not

only because that is the traditional version, recounted by most of his sources, but also

because ‘Truly, I should prefer it were true of the son’ (21.46.10: malim equidem de

filio uerum esse, quod et plures tradidere auctores et fama obtinuit). The partiality

biographical accounts of this sort feature elsewhere in the AUC, e.g. the stories of Manlius and

Camillus in Books 5-6: Jaeger 1997: 57-93. 448 Walsh 1961: 100. Cf. Walsh’s more critical assessment of Livy’s obituary of Scipio in his

commentary (1993: 5). 449 Walsh 1961: 93.

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Livy admits here is apparent from this point on, in the attention he pays to minor

events in Scipio’s early career,450 and in the space he dedicates to discussing Scipio’s

legend and character even before the man begins to feature prominently in the

narrative, in anticipation of rôle he will assume in Roman history.451 The historian

also discounts some invidious traditions about him. For example, to counter any

suspicion that Scipio aspired to regnum, Livy makes him reject his acclamation as

king by Spanish captives whom he spared, altering and correcting the Polybian

version of this event to bring it within the limits of Roman tolerance.452 Later, the

historian prioritises a version of the trial of L. Scipio Asiaticus that preserves

Africanus’ reputation over a version (38.56.8-13) that does not. Yet Livy’s partiality

for Scipio does not prevent him from depicting the great man as a source of discordia.

Indeed, Livy’s account of Scipio’s career ends in the serious discord provoked by his

‘trial’, and that discord lingers even after Scipio’s death, manifesting again in the trial

of his brother Lucius.

After the tremendous benefits Africanus has conferred on the Roman polity,

it is a cruel reversal of fortune that his tale should end in political upheaval. This

reversal is not altogether unexpected, however. The following appraisal of Scipio’s

political career reveals that Livy foreshadows the discordia in which Scipio’s career

will end. It will be argued that this discordia is the consequence of traits that Scipio

shares with the other troublemakers in Books 21-45. He possesses a high degree of

self-regard that breeds in him ambitio and a disdain for consensus patrum and the

auctoritas of the magistrates – the hallmarks of political troublemakers and the source

of much domestic distress, as the previous chapter showed. Scipio is no seditiosus, of

course, for his actions are not motivated by the same level of self-interest that drives

the worst offenders in the AUC – at least, not until the end. Furthermore, his many

450 Scipio’s rescue of his father (21.46.7-8); his rallying of the young nobiles after Cannae (22.53.6-

13); his election to the curule aedilate (25.2.6-7). 451 N.B. Livy’s discussion of Scipio’s self-representation at 26.19.3-9, immediately after Scipio takes

the Spanish command upon himself. Livy also anticipates Scipio’s destiny in each of the character’s

early appearances: 21.46.8: hic erit iuuenis penes quem perfecti huiusce belli laus est, Africanus ob

egregiam uictoriam de Hannibale Poenisque appellatus (‘This will be the youth, called Africanus on

account of his remarkable victory over Hannibal and the Phoenicians, to whom the fame of ending this

war belonged’. This comment follows Scipio’s rescue of his wounded father from Hannibal, an act that

also anticipates the service Scipio will render to his fatherland: Jaeger 1997: 138-40); 22.53.6: Scipio

iuuenis, fatalis dux huiusce belli (‘the youth Scipio, the destined general of this war’); 25.2.6: P. Cornelius Scipio, cui post Africano fuit cognomen (‘P. Cornelius Scipio, whose congomen afterwards

was Africanus’). 452 Livy 27.19.3-6; Polyb. 10.40.2-9; see Walsh 1961: 97-8; Levene 2010: 157-9.

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virtues and his services to Rome distinguish him from most of the figures who cause

conflict or disrupt public affairs in Books 21-45.453 His positive traits more than

compensate for his negative ones, but still, in the domestic sphere Africanus is an

ambiguous character, far less villainous than most of the figures who provoke

discordia, and at the same time less salutary than some other political leaders in these

books.454 This section considers the reasons for this ambiguity, and its implications

for understanding the wider scheme of Livy’s history.

4.1.1 Scipio the politician

By the time P. Scipio enters politics, at 25.2.6-7, he has appeared twice before, and in

very favourable circumstances. His rescue of his father the consul at the Ticinus and

the way he forced the mutinous young nobiles to swear their loyalty to Rome after

Cannae show Scipio to be a youth of unusual uirtus, dedication to his country, self-

assurance, and initiative. He has the makings of a leader, and when he submits himself

as a candidate for the curule aedilate despite his youth he demonstrates his desire to

be a leader too.

Because of his youth, however, the tribunes try to obstruct him (25.2.6), but

Scipio simply asserts that if the Quirites are unanimous in their desire to make him

aedile then he is mature enough for the office (25.2.7). The young man elicits such

enthusiasm, tantus fauor, from the voters that the tribunes desist. On the face of it this

episode is innocent enough, but on closer inspection something troubling appears. As

the previous chapters showed, upholding traditional constraints on who could stand

for high office was one of the functions the tribunate regularly performs in the AUC.

At 32.7.8-10, for instance, the tribunes M. Fulvius and M’. Curius challenge T.

Quinctius Flamininus’ candidacy for the consulate on the grounds that he is too young

to stand. After a debate on the Campus the tribunes and the candidate evidently refer

the matter to the senate, and the senate decides that the people should be allowed to

elect any man they wish provided his candidacy is not illegal (32.7.11). The tribunes

453 Of course, there are characters in early part of Livy’s history who go from being valuable warriors,

who contribute to Roman power and security, to threatening the res publica, N.B. C. Marcius

Coriolanus in Book 2 and M. Manlius Capitolinus in Books 5-6. 454 This is not to say that Scipio’s activities outside of Rome are unproblematic. His command in Sicily

is associated with accusations of serious misconduct and indiscipline, the truth of which Livy leaves

to his reader’s judgement. Livy does not clear Scipio of the charges of allowing himself and his army

to succumb to Hellenic luxury in Syracuse, not does his depiction of Scipio’s rôle in the Locrian affair

entirely exculpate the general: see Levene 2010: 235; contra Rossi 2004: 372-3.

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bow to auctoritas patrum (32.7.12). This pattern of events is repeated in many cases

of non-traditional candidacy in Books 21-45, as the preceding chapters showed, but

Scipio’s case is markedly different. For instead of withdrawing their objections on the

advice and authority of the senate, as they do in Flamininus’ case and others, at 25.2.7

the obstructing tribunes bow to the popular pressure excited by the candidate himself.

This episode establishes a pattern of political behaviour that recurs in Livy’s

account of Scipio’s life. It reveals Scipio as ambitious for honores, but in this regard

he is no different from other Romans except in his comparative youth. What is more

striking is his ability to realise his ambition. Whereas other atypical candidates require

the sanction of the senate to get past the tribunes’ obstruction, Scipio is able to make

the tribunes yield through force of will and the popular fauor he arouses with apparent

ease. The only candidate who manages a comparable feat in Books 21-45 is Scipio’s

eventual opponent Q. Fabius Maximus. The two candidates could not be less alike,

however. When he is elected to a second consecutive consulate at 24.7.12-9.4, Fabius

is already the most prominent man in Rome, a proven general, thrice consul and twice

dictator, and enjoys the additional advantage of being the consul in charge of the

election. Scipio, by contrast, is a mere iuuenis and a priuatus. Yet Scipio manages

what Fabius does, and Livy does not even resort to apologetics as he did in Fabius’

case. His election to the aedilate therefore shows that Scipio is not only ambitious,

but sufficiently self-assured and charismatic to achieve his goal over the objections

of the tribunes, and even without the approval of the senate. And this last point is

worrying, because it reveals Scipio as someone who is not only willing to disregard

mos maiorum to achieve his aims, but is willing to do so even without the support of

the sacred body of the ruling élite.

Scipio’s confidence, ambition, and charisma are on display at the next step in

his political career, when he alone, at the age of twenty-four, has the courage to

volunteer himself to take command of the armies of his recently slain father and uncle

in Hispania (26.18.7). Livy stresses that the apparent hopelessness of the situation

after the Scipiones’ deaths deterred the leading men of the state from offering to take

command (26.18.6). Small wonder, then, that the audacity of the iuuenis, who

volunteers for the task when none of the principes dared to, captures the assembly’s

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attention and gains their immediate approval.455 Their fauor secured, the assembly

grants Scipio the Spanish command, and the extent of the young man’s popularity is

manifested by the fact that he wins the vote not only with the unanimous support of

the centuriae, but the unanimous support of every individual voter (26.18.9)!

Understandably, when people’s ‘impulsiveness and eagerness’, impetus animorum

ardorque, subsides, they become rather concerned at this remarkable turn of events,

wondering whether their fauor had overcome their reason (26.18.10). But again

Scipio’s extraordinary charisma wins the Romans over. By the time he has finished

addressing the contio he has called (26.19.1-2) he has rekindled his people’s ardour

for him, and ‘filled men with more confident hope than trust in a human’s promise or

reasoning based on assurance in such matters normally inspired’ (impleret homines

certioris spei quam quantam fides promissi humani aut ratio ex fiducia rerum

subicere solet). (It is at this point that Livy discourses on Scipio’s use of religion to

inspire awe and hence make the public more amenable to him: 26.19.3-9.)456 So once

again Scipio’s comfortable self-assurance and his ability to evoke fauor allow him to

circumvent custom and secure honor ahead of time.

Fortunately for the res publica, the people’s unreasonable confidence in

Scipio is not misplaced. His brilliant successes in Hispania, summarised at 28.28.1-3,

win him even greater fauor, and this popularity secures another unanimous decision

by an assembly – this time, at the consular elections.457 But during Scipio’s first

consulate the underlying problems with his political conduct come to the fore, in his

dealings with the senate. The source of the discordia that develops between the consul

and the patres is Scipio’s characteristic ambitio, in this instance his desire to take the

war to Africa. The Roman people are already convinced that Scipio is the man to end

the war, and that he ought to have Africa as his province (28.28.9-10). Scipio himself

embraces this fama, that he was to be assigned Africa rather than having to cast lots

for it: he starts to assert that he had been elected to end the war by taking it to Africa

(28.40.1-2). Livy highlights the ambitio that motivates Scipio by describing him as

‘not satisfied with moderate glory’, nulla iam modica gloria contentus (28.40.1). The

455 26.18.8: in quem postquam omnium ora conuersa sunt, clamore ac fauore ominati extemplo sunt

felix faustumque imperium (‘on [Scipio] everyone’s faces were turned, and they foretold by their noise and approval a fortunate and auspicious command’). 456 On Livy’s take on Scipio’s conspicuous religiosity, see Walsh 1961: 94-5. 457 28.28.6; Livy describes the enthusiasm with which Scipio is received at 28.28.7-8.

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audacity of his claiming Africa as his province by right is yet another instance of

Scipio’s disregard for mos maiorum, and he compounds this disregard by declaring

openly that he would secure the command he wanted through the populus if the senate

should oppose him.458 Thus, his willingness to achieve his goals without the senate’s

approbation and his reliance on his ability to charm the electorate, hinted at in his

previous forays into politics, reach their logical conclusion when he pits the senate

against the populus in his effort to attain the superior gloria of ending the war.

Naturally, the principal senators do not receive Scipio’s attempt to usurp their

traditional prerogatives in distributing provinces or his demagogic threats warmly. No

less a figure than Fabius Maximus leads the opposition to the consul. His speech and

Scipio’s reply to it (28.40.3-44.13) constitute what is arguably the best-crafted

oratorical exchange in Livy’s third decade, a confrontation between the two saviours

of Rome in the Hannibalic War that illuminates their competing views of the war and

their personalities in the process.459 Yet, for all the effort Livy has put into these

speeches, they utterly fail to resolve the conflict.460 This remarkable fact reveals the

extent to which Scipio fails to fulfil his domestic duties as a consul. Instead of offering

consilium and leading through and with consensus patrum, the consul sows discordia

in the very heart of the state. Scipio’s failure as a domestic leader is underlined by the

contrast with Fabius, who so conspicuously governed with consensus patrum in the

first half of the third decade.

The impression that Scipio is not performing as a consul should is reinforced

by an obervation of Q. Fulvius Flaccus. After Scipio’s speech, the patres remain

hostile to him because of the rumour that he would take the matter to the populus if

the senate refused his claim to Africa (28.45.1). Fulvius, second only to Fabius

Maximus in prestige, demands that Scipio clarify his intentions (28.45.2). The consul

demurs, replying disingenuously that he will do what is in the common interest

(28.45.3: respondisset se quod e re publica esset facturum). Fulvius’ response to this

affront succinctly captures the unnatural relationship between the consul and the

senate. He tells Scipio that he is ‘testing’ or ‘sounding’ the senate ‘rather than

458 28.40.2: acturum se id per populum aperte ferret si senatus aduersaretur (‘he openly disclosed that

he would bring it about through the people if the senate should oppose him’). 459 On this debate see Chaplin 2000: 92-7. 460 The oratorical contest over the repeal of the lex Oppia (34.2-7) is analogous, since the exchange

between Cato and Valerius Tappo on that occasion also fails to produce a resolution, and functions

more as an explication of opposing viewpoints and a reflection of the speakers’ personalities; see the

discussion in the next section (4.2.2).

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consulting’ it: prae te feras temptare te magis quam consulere senatum (28.45.4). To

consult the senate, consulere senatum, is notionally the first duty of the consul. Thus

Fulvius is saying that Scipio is not perfoming his basic duty, and the echo of Scipio’s

title in the verb consulere suggests that his failure to consult the senate represents his

failure to be a proper consul.

So great is the discordia that Scipio has caused between himself and the patres

that the crisis has to be resolved from outside the senate. To defend the integrity and

auctoritas of the patres and to prevent the senate from becoming a mere sounding

board for the consul, Fulvius resorts to a drastic course of action. Since, by his

willingness to bring the matter before the populus, Scipio shows that he has no

intention of treating the opinions of the patres with due respect, Fulvius will not

dignify Scipio with a response when the consul calls upon him to present his sententia

(28.45.4-5). He therefore appeals to the tribunes of the plebs to come to his defence

in the event, and over Scipio’s objections the tribunes decree that if the consul does

ask the senate to assign provinces, he must abide by its decision (28.45.5-7). Fulvius’

strategem works: Scipio agrees to comply with the senate’s decision, and finds

himself assigned Sicily as his province, with permission to cross over to Africa if he

decides it advantageous (28.45.8).

It is hard to overstate how disconcerting the sequence of events at 28.40-5 is

in light of Livy’s depiction of Scipio hitherto. Just as Scipio’s past successes as a

general fosters the expectation among the populace that he will succeed in ending the

war, so his past successes on the political stage foster the expectation that he will be

similarly successful in his consulate. But in fact it is precisely the traits that served

Scipio so well in the past that make him a failure as a consul at home. His immoderate

ambitio and his wilfulness in pursuit of his goals, his reliance on his charisma with

the masses and his disregard for traditional political practice, all these lead him to a

confrontation with the senate and alienate them from him. Scipio is too singular to be

a ‘good’ politician in the traditional Roman sense, at least up to this point in his career.

More worryingly, he shares his most distinctive characteristics as politician with the

sort of men typically responsible for political conflict in the AUC. The discordia that

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these traits provoke at the start of Scipio’s first consulate foreshadows the more

serious discordia of his final appearance in the AUC.461

4.1.2 Scipio on trial

The final act of Scipio’s career is his most problematic, both from what it reveals

about Scipio as a character and from an interpretative point of view. For historians

interested in reconstructing Scipio’s last years, Livy’s account of the ‘Trials of the

Scipiones’ at the end of Book 38, with its spurious dating and mutually-exclusive

alternative versions, has often proved more troublesome than useful.462 Some literary

critics, too, take a dim view of Livy’s efforts at 38.50.4-60.10, seeing it as ‘the nadir

of Livian historiography – the example par excellence of his defective working

methods and of his inability to evaluate sensibly the evidence of his sources.’463 More

recently, however, the narrative of the ‘Trials’ has been read more favourably by

scholars more interested in Livy’s literary art than in the historicity of the account.

Mary Jaeger, for instance, argues that Livy’s account of the ‘Trials’ eschews a simple,

linear narrative for sympathetic effect, to let his reader share in the complexity and

contradictions of both the historical evidence and of Scipio’s behaviour.464 Similarly,

Andreola Rossi sees the two versions of the trials as a reflection of the abiguities of

the character of Scipio in the AUC.465 And Ayelet Haimson Lushkov demonstrates

how Livy’s approach to citation lets him assert control over contradictory source

material and over his competitors’ accounts of the ‘Trials’ (especially that of Valerius

461 Cf. Rossi 2004: 378-9: ‘Scipio’s determination to go to the people if the Senate does not accede to

his wishes underscores Scipio’s potential for subverting the norms that regulate the correct relationship

between the unus and the state’. 462 See for instance Scullard’s appendix on the ‘Trials’ (1973: 290-303), which reflects the difficulties

of creating a coherent narrative from the convoluted and often contradictory sources. Following the

general practice of modern commentators, Scullard 1973: 291 attributes the shortcomings of Livy’s

account to his use of Valerius Antias, who ‘displays his usual disregard for truth in the interests of

rhetoric and dramatic effect, but amid his falsifications there are still some details worth preserving’.

The bibliography on the ‘Trials’, historical and literary-critical, is extensive: see Scullard 1973: 290 n.

1 and Briscoe 2008: 171, to which may be added Briscoe’s own introductory note and the commentary

that follows (2008: 170-208); Walsh 1993: 9-10, 183-95; Haimson Lushkov 2010; and Rich FRH

3.352-358. 463 Luce 1977: 92 (this is not Luce’s own view, however). E.g. Frank 1930: 193-4 (‘confused in the

extreme’); Walsh 1961: 133 (‘extraordinary muddle’), 145 (‘failure to disentangle fact from

fable…bewilderingly confused’); 1993: 9-10 (‘a grotesque performance’). Luce’s own analysis (1977:

90-104) of Livy’s composition of his account of the ‘Trials’ is more sympathetic to the challenges the

historian faced, and more admiring of his ‘effort both to search out conflicting versions and to make an attempt at analysis and comparison.’ 464 Jaeger 1997: 161-76. 465 Rossi 2004: 379-80.

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Antias, which he cites at the start of his account: 38.50.5), thereby establishing his Ab

urbe condita as the all-encompassing master narrative of Roman history.466 These

authors treat Livy’s arrangement of material in the last ten chapters of Book 38 as

deliberate, rather than seeing it as a reflection of his shortcomings as an historian. The

analysis that follows adopts the same approach. It argues that Livy offers his reader

two versions of Africanus’ final public act not because he lacked confidence in his

original decision to follow Antias, but because he wanted to offers his reader two

different visions of Scipio. 467 And although Livy’s main narrative of Africanus’

downfall, at 38.50.4-53.11, is factually incompatible with the alternative narrative he

proffers at 38.56.5-57.8, thematically the two accounts are closely intertwined: both

serve as uncomfortable conclusions to the troubled history of Scipio’s rôle in politics

discussed above.

Livy begins his account by foregrounding the discordia that the prospect of

putting Africanus on trial generated, and he indicates that at the heart of this discordia

were competing civic principles.

alii non tribunos plebis sed uniuersam ciuitatem, quae id pati posset,

incusabant: duas maximas orbis terrarum urbes ingratas uno prope

tempore in principes inuentas, Romam ingratiorem, si quidem uicta

Carthago uictum Hannibalem in exsilium expulisset, Roma uictrix

uictorem Africanum expellat. alii neminem unum tantum eminere

ciuem debere ut legibus interrogari non possit; nihil tam aequandae

libertatis esse quam potentissimum quemque posse dicere causam. quid

autem tuto cuiquam, nedum summam rem publicam, permitti, si ratio

non sit reddenda (38.50.6-9)?

Some people criticised not the tribunes of the plebs but the whole state

for being able to bear this [i.e. putting Africanus on trial]: the two

greatest cities in the world were found ungrateful to their leading men

at nearly the same time, Rome being the more ungrateful – for whereas

conquered Carthage had driven conquered Hannibal into exile, Rome,

the conqueror, was driving out conquering Africanus. Other people

said that no single citizen should be so eminent that he could not be

investigated under the laws, that nothing was so conducive to equal

466 Haimson Lushkov 2010. 467 It is generally agreed that Livy based his account of the ‘Trials of the Scipiones’ on that of Valerius

Antias: see e.g. Klotz 1915: 520-36; Luce 1977: 92-5; Briscoe 2008: 2; Haimson Lushkov 2010: 100;

Rich FRH 1.302, 3.352-6. However, this is not to say that Livy’s main account of the ‘Trials’ should

be attributed in its entirety to Antias, as Peter F45 would have it. It is impossible to determine to what

extent Livy has re-worked the Antian material or what parts of the account are Livy’s own

contributions: see Rich FRH 3.352-7, who prefers the safer approach of counting only the material

directly attributed to Antias as fragments (FRH 25 F49 = 38.50.5; FRH 25 F51 = 38.55.5-9). For

penetrating discussions of the way Livy used Antias, see Luce 1977: 96-104; Haimson Lushkov 2010:

100-5; Rich FRH 1.299-304, 3.352-6.

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liberty than that the most powerful man, whoever he was, could be

made to plead his case in court. Moreover, what thing – to say nothing

of the highest public business – could be entrusted to any man safely,

if an account did not have to be given?

This moral dilemma fades from view in the initial exchange between the Petillii and

Scipio. The tribunes’ charges revolve around the money Scipio received from

Antiochus III, but Livy claims the Petillii’s case was based less on evidence than on

attacking their opponent’s character (38.51.1), and this is born out by the account he

gives of their speech: the Petillii revive the old rumours of misconduct in the Locrian

affair and at Syracuse (38.51.1), and accuse him of dictatorial and regal conduct in

Greece and Asia when he served as his brother’s legate (38.51.2-4). Africanus,

however, simply refuses to dignify these accusations with a reply. Instead, when

called to the Rostra he proclaims his intention to sacrifice in memory of his victory at

Zama, and having invited his audience to join him he leads the entire assembly away,

breaking up the tribunes’ contio (38.51.6-14).

It is after this that the dilemma that Livy introduces at 38.50.6-9 comes to the

fore in his narrative, forming the basis of the second exchange in the ‘trials’ of

Africanus, between the Petillii and Ti. Sempronius Gracchus. For in causing the

hearing to dissolve Scipio appears to confirm the fears of those who supported the

trial. After Scipio withdraws to Liternum and asks to be excused from attending the

subsequent hearing on account of illness (38.52.1, 3), the indignant Petillii accuse

Africanus of undermining tribunician authority and acting as though he were beyond

the reach of the law (38.52.4-7). The language Livy attributes to the tribunes evokes

a coup d’état.468 By disrupting the contio, they argue, Scipio ‘deprived’ the Roman

people their ‘right to speak their minds about him’, and thus stripped them of their

libertas too (38.52.5: ius sententiae de se dicendae et libertatem ademisset). The

Petillii suggest to their audience that by joining Africanus in his procession from the

Forum to up the Capitoline (following the traditional route of a triumph) they had

unwittingly participated in a triumph that he was celebrating over them. 469 To

emphasise the rebelliousness of this act, they label it a secessio – aimed,

468 Cf. Walsh 1993: 186, observing that the tribunes’ language is redolent of the political conflicts of

the late Republic. 469 38.52.5: iis comitatus, uelut captos trahens, triumphum de populo Romano egisset… (‘accompanied

by these people [i.e. the members of the contio], as through dragging captives along, he celebrated a

triumph over the Roman people…’).

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paradoxically, at undermining the tribunes’ power.470 The Petillii end by once again

alluding to the matter of Scipio’s conduct in Sicily, contrasting the state’s previous

willingness to dispatch a commission to investigate and, if necessary, to detain Scipio

when he had an army at his disposal with their current inability to bring a private

citizen back from Liternum (38.52.7). But the tribunes’ case is overcome by Ti.

Gracchus’ arguments and moral authority, as the discussion of the latter’s rôle in the

‘trial’ above showed (Chapter 2.2.4). Gracchus makes the case that the Roman people

risks shaming itself by its ingratitude towards Africanus so forcefully that he not only

wins general approval but evidently induces the Petillii to drop their suit (38.52.9-

53.8).

In the contest between the gratitude owed to a Roman hero and the need to be

able to hold even the greatest citizen to account, the balance appears on first inspection

to tip in favour of the former. This is especially fortunate because Livy strongly

implies that the view shared by Gracchus and the senate, that the Petillii are motivated

by ambitio rather than by a desire for justice, is correct.471 Moreover, in the final

chapter of the book Africanus’ innocence of the charge of peculation is seemingly

confirmed by the absence of any unaccounted wealth among his brother’s possessions

(38.60.8). Thus, Livy’s account of the ‘trial’ of Africanus and its aftermath shows that

the prosecution was spurious, and that letting the great man retire to Liternum, while

still shameful in light of his contributions to Rome, was at least less blameworthy than

forcing him to go through the humiliation of a trial.

Yet, for all that, Scipio’s innocence does not absolve him of misconduct

during the contio. The actual criminal charge of embezzlement and the attack on

Scipio’s character may be baseless, but the Petillii’s indignation at the way Scipio

undermined the legal process is not. And Livy does not try to excuse the great man’s

behaviour in this regard. He states unequivocally that Africanus went to Liternum

‘with the definite intention of not being present to plead his case’ (38.52.1: certo

consilio ne ad causam dicendam adesset), and goes on to explain that Africanus was

simply too proud to bring submit himself to a trial. ‘His spirit and nature were too

470 38.52.5: seccesionemque eo die in Capitolium a tribunis plebis fecisset (‘and on that day incited a

secession from the tribunes of the plebs on the Capitoline’). Paradox: Adam 1982: 193; Walsh 1993: 186; Jaeger 1997: 152; Briscoe 2008: 185. 471 Gracchus’ invidious references to the Petillii implies that he regards them as motivated purely by

ambitio: see 38.52.11; 38.53.3-4. The senate’s opinion is more explicit: 38.53.7.

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great, and he was accustomed to too great a fortune,472 to know how to be a defendant

and abase himself to the humility of pleading his case’ (38.52.2: maior animus et

natura erat ac maiori fortunae adsuetus quam ut reus esse sciret et summittere se in

humilitatem causam dicentium). By inducing him to resist the tribunes’ summons, the

loftiness of Scipio’s spirit borders on superbia, a trait inseparable in the Roman mind

from tyranny, and this is precisely how the Petillii interpret it.473 Gracchus manages

to convince his audience and, by extension, the reader, that forcing so revered a figure

as Africanus to plead his case before the Rostra after everything he had achieved

would be a disgrace to the Roman people (N.B. 38.52.11). But it is significant that it

is only Gracchus’ defence, augmented by his legal authority as a tribune, that

legitimises Scipio’s refusal to submit to judgement; the actual narrative of Scipio’s

action leaves the probity of his behaviour in doubt.

Scipio’s last public act according to Livy’s main narrative (38.50.4-53.11)

conforms to the pattern of dubious political behaviour established in the earlier books.

Once again Scipio’s self-regard drives him to disregard norms of behaviour, and once

again his charisma enables him to get what he wants, this time by winning the people’s

support for his impromptu sacrificial procession. His characteristic combination of

charm and boldness overshadows his opponents’ criticisms and unites the state in

concordia one last time, and as ever this concordia centres on Scipio.474 The extent

to which the concordia rests on Scipio himself is revealed by its immediate failure

and the reversion to discordia in his absence. To the extent that it requires the force

of Scipio’s personality to maintain it, the concordia that he creates is illusory; it takes

Ti. Gracchus to create a more lasting concord and bring the persecutions of both

Scipiones to satisfactory conclusions. Africanus has always justified his

exceptionalism by reference to his service to the res publica, and he does so again in

his speech at 38.51.7-11, but it is Gracchus who succeeds in convincing the tribunes

to accept that the conqueror of Hannibal and Antiochus has earned the right to

exceptional treatment.475 Thus, the episode as a whole upholds the objections of those

472 Or, ‘His spirit and nature were too great, and used to too great a fortune’; it is not clear whether

adsuetus agrees with animus or refers to Scipio himself: Briscoe 2008: 185. 473 38.52.4: ab eadem superbia non uenire ad causam dicendam arguerent qua iudicium et tribunos

plebis et contionem reliquisset…(‘they asserted that it was from the same superbia that caused him not

to come to plead his case as that because of which he abandoned the trial and the tribunes of the plebs

and the contio…’). On superbia as a characteristic of tyrants in Roman invective, see Dunkle 1967:

159 and passim. 474 Jaeger 1997: 147, 150-1. 475 Jaeger 1997: 153-5.

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who see the prosecution as an act of gross ingratitude, who implicitly think Rome’s

heroes deserved better (38.50.8-9). But because it also shows Scipio behaving in the

same problematic way that he always has, Livy’s narrative does not invalidate the

concerns raised at 38.50.8-9, which are precisely about leading citizens behaving

exceptionally. Rather, Scipio’s behaviour, at the contio and afterwards, reinforces the

validity of those concerns.

The main narrative of Africanus’ ‘trial’ is a fitting dénouement to his career.

The speeches of Gracchus and of Scipio himself memorialise the latter’s

accomplishments so well that the historian has no need to include a detailed laudatio

in the obituary he provides at 38.53.9-11. At the same time, however, the accusations

of the Petillii recall the invidious rumours that surrounded Scipio, and they themselves

instantiate the envy and opposition that Scipio tended to provoke. And Scipio’s final

act in Rome recalls the ambiguity of his political career, displaying for the final time

that irresistible force of personality, that charisma and self-confidence and

conspicuous pietas, by which he was so often able to bypass the constraints of mos

maiorum. It is equally fitting that his final act should be provocative and controversial

yet defy the simple interpretations usually associated with such acts in the AUC.

Furthermore, Livy’s introduction of the two opposing perspectives on the

merits of prosecuting leading citizens imbues his account of ‘Trials of the Scipiones’

with special contemporary relevance. The abuse that many of Rome’s great men had

suffered at the hands of an ungrateful populace was given currency by Cicero, who,

following his harassment and exile at the instigation of P. Clodius, presented himself

as the newest member of a canon of spurned heroes.476 Clodius and others would no

doubt have replied that even Rome’s self-styled saviour had to be held to account for

abusing his power on the night when he executed the Catilinarian conspirators,

regardless of what Cicero felt the Roman people owed him. And there was a more

recent example than Cicero’s that made this conflict of civic virtues particularly

pressing for Livy and his contemporaries. In the De domo sua 63 Cicero claimed that

he could have resisted Clodius and his supporters with arms, but instead chose exile

over the possibility of a victory that would have resulted in the deaths of citizens or a

defeat that would have destroyed the state. His claim drastically exaggerates the level

of support he enjoyed in order to present his exile not as a personal defeat but as an

476 Cic. Dom. 86-8; Rep. 1.6.

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act of self-sacrifice for the public good. But Cicero’s suggestion that a prominent

Roman might resort to violence to maintain his dignitas was all too plausible to the

generation that had lived through the civil wars of the 80s. Sulla had taken up arms to

retain his Asian command, and Marius had followed suit, returning to Rome in force

to avenge his wounded pride. Catilina, too, had been driven to violence by a perceived

affront to his dignitas (his repeated rejections in the consular elections), but unlike the

successful imperatores Marius and Sulla he had little claim to the gratitude and

respect of the Roman people. For Livy’s generation, however, it was Caesar who

made the conflict between the honour owed to Rome’s imperatores and the limits of

individual power in a free state especially pertinent. Although the legitimacy of his

conquest of Gaul did not go unchallenged, Caesar’s contribution to Roman imperium

was undeniable. But Livy and his contemporaries – those who survived – had had to

live with the legacy of Caesar’s reluctance to sacrifice the consulate he felt was he

was owed for his achievements: almost two decades of discordia and civil bloodshed.

In his Commentarii Caesar made no effort to hide the fact that he started a civil war

in response to defend his dignitas, and he associated his desire to protect his dignitas

with his services to the res publica.

hortatur, cuius imperatoris ductu VIIII annis rem publicam felicissime

gesserint plurimaque proelia secunda fecerint, omnem Galliam

Germaniamque pacauerint, ut eius existimationem dignitatemque ab

inimicis defendant (Caes. BCiv. 1.7.7).477

[Caesar] urges [his soldiers] to defend from his enemies the reputation

and standing of their imperator, under whose leadership they have

conducted public business with the utmost fortune these nine years, and

fought very many successful battles, and pacified all Gaul and

Germania.

For Livy’s original audience, then, the problem of balancing the recognition and

gratitude merited by Rome’s most eminent citizens, and her military leaders in

particular, with the accountability on which the libertas of the state depended, must

have been pressing given its proven potential to provoke the most ruinous discordia.

477 Cf. BCiv. 1.4.4; 1.7.7; 1.8.3; at 1.9.2-3, however, Caesar expresses a more Ciceronian sentiment,

claiming that he was willing to bear ‘a loss of honor with equanimity for the sake of the res publica’

(tamen hanc iacturam honoris sui rei publicae causa aequo animo tulisse), despite his admission that

‘dignitas has always been foremost for him and dearer than life’ (sibi semper primam fuisse dignitatem

uitaque potiorem). But throughout the first book of the BCiv. Caesar in fact justifies the war as a

defence of his dignitas: see Peer 2015: 45-58.

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The AUC addresses this problem repeatedly. As early as the second book, the

public mistreatment of a military hero brings peril as well as shame upon the Roman

people. C. Marcius Coriolanus certainly earns the hatred of the plebs for his

suggestion that the patres use the grain shortage to revoke the concessions made to

them and abolish the tribunate (2.34.9-11). Nevertheless, Livy emphasises that for all

the anger he provokes Coriolanus is innocent of any crime, yet the tribunes determine

to prosecute him regardless (2.35.1-3). The threats of violence Coriolanus utters as he

chooses exile over submitting to the people’s judgement (2.35.6) would surely have

resonated with Livy’s early readers.

Other victims of popular ingratitude in the AUC make better exempla,

preferring to sacrifice their dignitas rather than doing harm to the res publica, as

Cicero claimed to have done.478 Camillus in Book 5 is of course the most famous

Roman hero to fall prey to a spurious prosecution arising from his unpopularity. He

too goes into exile, but unlike Coriolanus his pius devotion to his fatherland never

wavers, and despite his loathing for the countrymen who drove him out he returns

when summoned and liberates Rome from the Gauls. 479 There is another, rather

different exemplum in Book 22. Unlike Coriolanus and Camillus, Fabius Maximus is

never subjected to the indignity of a prosecution. During the dictatorship in which his

policy of cunctatio effectively saved Rome from Hannibal in the critical months

following the Battle of Lake Trasumennus, Fabius is subjected to a different kind of

abuse: rumor. The slanders and invectives directed at the dictator will be considered

in greater detail in the next section of this chapter; here it will suffice to note that a

campaign of calumnious rhetoric succeeds in undermining the populus’ support for

his leadership, and eventually he is forced by plebiscite to accept his magister

equitum, M. Minucius, as his equal in command of the army. Fabius, however, ‘with

the same firmness of spirit with which he had borne his enemies defaming him before

478 Livy’s opinion of Cicero’s exile is difficult to gauge. The summary of Livy’s account of Cicero’s

exile (Per. 103) is too brief for any conclusions to be drawn from it, and the indirect evidence is not

decisive either. On the one hand, Livy used Cicero’s post-exilic orations to embellish the speech he

put into Camillus’ mouth at 5.51-4 (see Gaertner 2008: 39-48) – arguably a positive reflection on

Cicero’s self-portayal – and he also appears to have mentioned that Cicero’s return was greeted with

widespread rejoicing (Per. 104.3). On the other hand, in the obituary preserved at Sen. Suas. 6.22 Livy

included the exile among the misfortunes that Cicero did not, in his opinion, bear like a man (omnium

aduersorum nihil, ut uiro dignum erat, tulit), so perhaps Livy did not regard Cicero a paragon of

forbearance comparable to Camillus and Fabius Maximus Verrucosus. 479 N.B. Camillus’ declaration that he would never have returned had not his patria been imperilled:

5.51.1-2.

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the masses also bore the raging populus’ injustice to him’ (22.26.6: ipse, qua grauitate

animi criminantes se ad multitudinem inimicos tulerat, eadem et populi in se

saeuientis iniuriam tulit). He returns to his command, and does not hesitate to rescue

his rival Minucius from Hannibal a few chapters later. Though he laments his

countrymen’s mistake in elevating Minucius, like Camillus he puts duty to country

above his injured dignitas. In fact, Fabius’ forbearance is greater than Camillus’,

because unlike Camillus he never expresses any resentment towards the populus for

his mistreatment at their hands. Perhaps this is simply to be explained by the relative

severity of the two men’s ordeals, but Fabius still serves as a positive exemplar of

how patriotic Romans should react to injustice.

In Livy’s primary narrative Scipio Africanus lives up to the exempla set by

Camillus and Fabius. By leaving Rome for Liternum to avoid the inuidia and

certamina with tribunes that he foresaw (38.52.1), he sacrifices his dignitas, his hard-

earned standing in society, to avoid embroiling his city in a protracted cycle of

political conflict. Livy does not make as much of Scipio’s self-sacrifice as he could

have, however, since he also leaves no doubt that Scipio’s self-imposed exile is

primarily a product of his aversion to humbling himself at a trial (38.52.1-2). 480

Africanus’ pride makes him disregard the legal authority of the tribunes, but it is not

so great that it drives him to violence against his countrymen, as Coriolanus’ pride

did.

This point, that Scipio did not put personal dignitas above his patria, is

accentuated by Livy’s alternative version of L. Scipio Asiaticus’ trial at 38.56.8-13.

In this version, Africanus did not die before his brother’s trial, nor had he retired to

Liternum. Instead he was serving as a legatus in Etruria when he learned that Lucius

has been convicted (38.56.8). He hastened to Rome where, hearing that his brother

has been put in chains, ‘he drove back the bailiff from his body and resorted to

force/violence against the tribunes restraining him, more in brotherly duty than in a

manner befitting a citizen’ (38.56.9: reppulisse a corpore eius uiatorem, et tribunis

retinentibus magis pie quam ciuiliter uim fecisse). The brevity of Livy’s account of

this act belies the magnitude of Africanus’ act somewhat, but the oratio attributed to

Gracchus that Livy goes on to cite conveys its shocking unlawfulness. Gracchus sees

480 Cf. Sen. Ep. 86.1-3, which presents Scipio’s withdrawal to Liternum as a conscious decision to

sacrifice himself for the libertas of his patria; see Walsh 1993: 186.

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Africanus’ act for what it is, the overthrow of tribunicia potestas and the state itself

by a priuatus; hence his offer to defend Asiaticus because ‘it was a more endurable

precedent for both the tribunician power and the res publica to be seen to be

conquered by a tribune of the plebs than by a private citizen’ (38.56.10: tolerabilioris

exempli esse a tribuno plebei potius quam a priuato uictam uideri et tribuniciam

potestatem et rem publicam esse). Gracchus upbraids Africanus for his failure to live

up to his own previous standards of behaviour, emphasising the contrast with his

recent disregard for civic propriety by mentioning his past refusal of excessive

honores: he who had once turned down honours and offices better suited to a tyrant

than a citizen of a free state had now attacked the res publica and the libertas

symbolised by the tribunate (38.56.11-13).481 As a(n alternative) final act, Scipio’s

intervention in his brother’s trial mirrors his first act in the AUC, but also reflects a

sharp decline in his relationship to the ciuitas. When he intervened to save his father

the consul at the Ticinus, Scipio combined his duty to his family with his duty to the

state; now, in contrast, Livy stresses that Scipio’s familial pietas is in direct opposition

to his behaviour as a citizen, magis pie quam ciuiliter (38.56.9).482 In this version of

events Africanus puts his family’s dignitas above the welfare of his patria.

That Livy included this version, with its damning portrayal of Africanus, in

his history at all is significant, since all the evidence suggests that where Scipio is

concerned the author was inclined to treat his subject gently. Admittedly, as an

alternative account it has no impact on the exterior narrative in which it is

parenthetically embedded – it is not intended to alter the overall impression and final

judgement of Africanus. And yet it cannot help but colour the way the reader sees

him. By including this story in his history Livy offers his reader two competing

visions of Africanus at the end of his political career. In the first, despite his

characteristic wilfulness and disregard for the norms of conduct expected of the élite,

he ultimately sacrifices his place in Roman society, his dignitas, for the good of his

country. The second vision elucidates and reiterates this fact by way of contrast: it

offers the reader a glimpse at what could have happened had Africanus not

subordinated his pride – in this case, familial pride – to his patria. As with the

alternative account of the elder Scipio’s rescue at the Ticinus, Livy prefers to believe

481 See Jaeger 1997: 156-7; Rossi 2004: 379. 482 Cf. Jaeger 1997: 156; Rossi 2004: 379.

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the first version of Africanus’ depature from politics, but he encourages his reader to

imagine a more troubling end to the great man’s story. And what is particularly

disturbing is that this darker ending is not inconsistent with the image of Scipio as a

political actor – strong-willed, self-assured, and careless of mos maiorum – that Livy

has painted over the course of his narrative: it only requires Scipio to be more pius

towards his family than to his country. This suggests that a character such as Scipio’s,

however much it might compel a man to excel as a soldier, to the benefit of Roman

imperium, might not always benefit the res publica.483

This vision of violence, acted out in the heart of the Forum by a famous

conqueror for the sake of dignitas, would have been all too familiar to Livy’s original

readership. There are other Caesarian echoes in Livy’s depiction of Africanus in the

‘Trials’ narrative that evoke the recent civils wars too: Scipio’s demand that the

treasury be opened to him and his threat to open it himself when the quaestors refused

(38.55.13);484 the reference to the offer to make him perpetuus consul et dictator in

Gracchus’ speech (38.56.12).485 These resonances invite the reader to view the two

versions of Scipio’s downfall, and indeed his whole life, in light of the civil strife that

engulfed Rome in the late Republic. The attributes that make Scipio a successful

leader, such as his charisma, his self-confidence, and his generalship, were shared by

the leaders who did the most harm to the res publica when their dignitas was

threatened. In the main narrative of the AUC Scipio avoided this impious fate, but the

alternative version the Livy provides suggests that he avoided it only narrowly,

perhaps only because he died before his brother was put on trial.

The life of Scipio Africanus in the AUC is not only a celebration of his

achievements, but a warning about the dangers associated with leaders who achieve

particular distinction and gloria. Even before the ‘Trials’ narratives Scipio manifests

483 This tension, between the good done by Scipio for the empire and his domestic rôle, is introduced

at the start of the ‘Trials’ narrative with Livy’s description of the competing opinions about the

prosecution: those who disapprove stress Scipio’s conquest and contributions to imperium (38.50.6-7),

while those who approve focus on the ciuitas (38.50.8-9): Jaeger 1997: 146-7. Jaeger 1997: 147-51

argues that Scipio manages to balance and unite the domestic with the imperial/peripheral in his speech

and procession, but, as argued above, Scipio’s solution is illusory because it depends on his presence. 484 This anecdote is mentioned by Polybius (23.14.5-6; see Briscoe 2008: 196), so the parallel with

Caesar’s actions is coincidental, although for Livy’s audience it must have evoked the latter. 485 This reference makes it almost certain that the oratio scripta attributed to Gracchus was composed

around the time Caesar was made dictator perpetuus: see Briscoe 2008: 200-1, with references. When associated with magistracy, the term perpetuus had negative connotations because it was antithetical

to a fundamental element of Roman libertas, the annual change of magistrates: see Oakley 1997: 700

on Livy 6.40.7; cf. 3.19.4; 3.36.9; 3.57.2; 6.41.3; Cic. Phil. 1.4; 2.87.

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traits that are redolent not only of other characters who disrupt public life at Rome,

but of the dynasts who created discordia in the century before Livy began to write.486

Throughout his career Scipio shows a tendency to ignore traditional norms of political

behaviour, and a readiness to use his popular appeal to bypass these strictures to

satisfy his ambitio, regardless of whether the obstacle he faces is the power of the

tribunes or the authority of the senate. ‘Scipio’, as Chaplin remarks, ‘represents the

direction Rome is taking’, as outstanding martial figures would come to dominate

politics in the following years, as they no doubt came to dominate Livy’s history of

those years. And by evoking the leaders of the late Republic, Scipio’s violence in the

alternative account of his brother’s trial also anticipates the violence to which later

Roman generals would resort when their dignitas was threatened, and which Livy

would go on to recount in his lost books.487 This glimpse at the dangers that the pride

of great men poses to a free res publica, dangers that would occupy much of Livy’s

later narrative, also highlights the lesson Livy would prefer his reader to learn from

Africanus in the main account of his ‘trial’ and exile: that even a man who has been

treated unjustly by his countrymen should put the concordia and libertas of Rome

above himself. Unhappily for Rome’s concordia, Scipio’s exemplum would be all too

rarely emulated in the books to come.

4.2 Oratory and politics before the Battle of Cannae

The preceding chapters examined the rôle of oratory in both maintaining and

destabilising the Roman political order. This section too considers how oratory creates

discordia in the AUC. But unlike the cases discussed above, in which politically

disruptive speech is effectively countered and concordia restored, in the series of

speeches considered here, from the chapters leading up to the campaign and Battle of

Cannae in Book 22, no effective opposition is offered to dangerous and irresponsible

oratory. This section explores the implications of Book 22 for the rôle of political

oratory in the AUC as a whole.

486 Cf. Chaplin 2000: 97 n. 56 on the traits shared by Scipio in the ‘Trials’ narratives, 38.50-56, and

the ‘dynasts’ of the late Republic. 487 Chaplin 2000: 96-7; Rossi 2004: 379-80.

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4.2.1 Minucius and the Fabian Strategy

After the Roman defeat at Lake Trasumennus, as the discussion in Chapter 2.1

showed, Roman affairs were well managed by the dictator Q. Fabius Maximus. After

putting domestic affairs in order, Fabius embarks on a course of action, a deliberate

strategy of avoiding pitched battle, with the intention of preserving Rome’s manpower

and slowly forcing Hannibal out of Italy by a war of attrition. Once Fabius is in the

field, Livy quickly establishes that he represents a real threat to Hannibal. The Roman

army encamps near Arpi in view of the enemy (22.12.3); Hannibal offers battle but

Fabius does not respond, and the Carthaginian himself, in spite of boasting that their

refusal to face him shows that the Romans’ spirit is broken, privately worries that the

Romans finally have a leader who is his equal (22.12.4-5). Hannibal ‘indeed feared

from the outset the prudentia of the new dictator’ (prudentiam quidem dictatoris

extemplo timuit), so he tries to provoke Fabius into battle by laying waste to allied

territory (22.12.6-7). The dictator, however, cannot be tempted. Keeping to the

heights, he shadows the Carthaginians’ movements, refusing to risk all in open battle,

but by means of small skirmishes undertaken in safe circumstances he slowly begins

to restore the morale of his soldiers (22.12.8-10). Livy’s depiction of the ‘Fabian

strategy’ leaves no room for doubt about its effectiveness, not least because it so

troubles the cunning Hannibal himself.

But it also troubles Fabius’ magister equitum M. Minucius Rufus, and it is he

who first expresses opposition to the dictator’s handling of the invaders. From the

outset Livy highlights Minucius’ propensity for unbridled and unwise speech,

introducing him as ‘Savage and hasty in his opinions, and unrestrained in his

language/in respect of his tongue’ (22.12.11: ferox rapidusque consiliis ac lingua

immodicus).488 With growing boldness Minucius speaks out against his general’s

tactics, perversely misrepresenting the positive aspects of Fabius’ command in order

to undermine confidence in them:

primo inter paucos, dein propalam in uolgus, pro cunctatore segnem,

pro cauto timidum, adfingens uicina uirtutibus uitia, compellabat,

premendoque superiorem…sese extollebat (22.12.12).489

488 The depiction of Minucius that follows reflects multivalence of lingua, as he is as immoderate in his tendency to disparage his dictator verbally as he is in the language he uses to do so. 489 Minucius’ accusations of timidity and idleness here and in his speech at 22.14 may well reflect

genuine contemporary concerns about the Fabian strategy. In the martial society of the middle

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first among a few people, thereafter brazenly before a crowd, he

abused [Fabius] as lazy rather than holding back, scared instead of

cautious, falsely imputing proximate vices for [his] virtues, and by

demeaning his superior…he exulted himself.

Livy’s description of the grumblings of Minucius is the first in an extended sequence

of episodes, spread at intervals throughout chapters 12-38, in which speech is used to

malign Fabius Maximus and undermine Roman faith in his leadership. In Chapter

2.3.1 of this thesis it was explained that these speech-acts are Livy’s way of

representing an historical tradition about the opposition that Fabius faced over his

strategy, a tradition that was probably most familiar in Livy’s lifetime from Ennius’

Annales (363-5 Sk). Livy alludes to the poet’s renowned lines at the very start of this

sequence with the word cunctatore and with his use of the distinctive ablative gerund

premendo at 22.12.12, and he maintains this allusive relationship with comparable

echoes of Ennian vocabulary in subsequent passages about the opposition to

Fabius.490 But the function of speech in these passages is not simply to represent

Ennian rumores. The negative language associated with Minucius at 21.12.11-12, in

contrast with the positive depiction of Fabius as a civil and military leader that

precedes it, makes it obvious which of the characters is the villain and which the hero

in this passage and in the narrative that follows. In the closing words of the chapter,

however, Livy breaks with his usual practice of allowing his readers to make their

own judgements. Instead, by describing Minucius’ verbal attack on his commander

as ‘a most vile practice that has proliferated owing to the unwarranted successes of

many men’ (22.12.12: pessima ars nimis prosperis multorum successibus creuit), he

signals to his audience that the magister equitum’s is a negative exemplum, and one

with contemporary relevance.491

Minucius is briefly described at 22.12.12 as sowing discontent ‘first among a

few people, then brazenly before a crowd’ (primo inter paucos, dein propalam in

Republic, uirtus, the foremost quality of a Roman man, was associated above all with aggressive

displays of courage in battle: see McDonnell 2006: 12-71; Levene 2010: 228-9. By Livy’s lifetime the

concept of uirtus had become more multifaceted, and tactical and strategic cleverness more widely

appreciated, so he could depict Minucius’ criticisms as transparently fallacious. But from a

contemporary perspective Fabius’ refusal to give battle when the opportunity presented itself would

likely have appeared more cowardly than prudent, a failure to meet the standards of uirtus expected of

a Roman commander and as such grounds for criticism: cf. Roller 2011: 184-5, 188-90. Roller 2011:

193-200 and passim identifies a trace of this point of view in Enn. Ann. 363-5 Sk., which paradoxically

attributes Fabius’ gloria to his ‘delaying’ (cunctando), a tactic that stands in direct opposition to the

aggressive and proactive uirtus that was the traditional source of gloria. 490 Elliott 2009: 534 and passim. 491 Thompson and Plaistowe 1896: 85.

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uolgus). Upon witnessing the devastation of the territories of Falernum and Sinuessa,

however, Minucius gives a full oration (22.14.3-14) to some of the soldiers of Fabius’

army, and Livy emphasises the dangerous effectiveness of his speech by describing

its effects, before relating the speech itself, as ‘nearly the start of a seditio’ (22.14.1:

prope de integro seditio). But for all that it is presented from the start as seditious, the

speech, in oratio recta, is eloquent and emotive. Minucius begins by bemoaning the

destruction that he and his audience can see from their vantage point.

‘spectatum huc’ inquit Minucius, ‘ad rem fruendam oculis, sociorum

caedes et incendia uenimus? nec, si nullius alterius nos ne ciuium

quidem horum pudet, quos Sinuessam colonos patres nostri miserunt,

ut ab Samnite hoste tuta haec ora esset, quam nunc non uicinus Samnis

urit sed Poenus aduena, ab extremis orbis terrarum terminis nostra

cunctatione et socordia iam huc progressus? tantum pro! degeneramus

a patribus nostris ut praeter quam oram illi Punicas uagari classes

dedecus esse imperii sui duxerint, eam nunc plenam hostium

Numidarumque ac Maurorum iam factam uideamus? qui modo

Saguntum oppugnari indignando non homines tantum sed foedera et

deos ciebamus, scandentem moenia Romanae coloniae Hannibalem

laeti spectamus. fumus ex incendiis uillarum agrorumque in oculos

atque ora uenit; strepunt aures clamoribus plorantium sociorum,

saepius nostram quam deorum inuocantium opem; nos hic pecorum

modo per aestiuos saltus deuiasque calles exercitum ducimus, conditi

nubibus siluisque (22.14.4-8).’

Minucius asked, ‘Have we come here for the sight of the slaughter and

burning of our allies, as if to something delightful to our eyes? And, if

by nothing else, are we not shamed by these citizens, whom our fathers

sent as colonists to Sinuessa, to keep safe from the Samnite enemy this

coast, which is now being burned not by the neighbouring Samnites but

by a foreign Phoenician, come here now from the far ends of the earth

through our hesitation and indolence. Are we degenerating so much,

alas! from our fathers that we now see this coast, past which they

considered it a disgrace to their imperium for Punic fleets to cruise,

crowded with and in the possession of enemy Numidians and Mauri?

We, who only recently, being indignant that Saguntum was besieged,

were appealing not just to men but to treaties and gods, are watching

happily as Hannibal is scaling the walls of a Roman colony. Smoke

from the burning of villas and fields is coming into our eyes and

mouths; our ears ring with the cries of lamenting allies, more often

calling for our help than the gods’; here we are, leading our army like

so many cattle through summer pastures and by remote trails, hidden

by clouds and forests.’

This vivid passage expands Livy’s account of the ravaging of the Falernian land

(22.13.10-14.1, 3) but more importantly in the context of the speech it also heightens

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the emotional power of Minucius’ complaints. The highly sensory description of the

devastation of ‘the most pleasant land in Italy’ (22.14.1: amoenissimus Italiae ager),

ostensibly relating what Minucius and his audience are witnessing, allows Livy’s

audience to experience the horrors too.492 Livy thus lets his readers share some of

Minucius’ outrage at Hannibal’s depredations on Italian soil, and in so doing affords

insight into why his words are so effective at rousing anger at Fabius.

In this section of his diatribe, however, Minucius emphasises collective

shame at the army’s failure to intervene – note the second person plural verbs and

pronouns highlighted in the excerpt above. Indeed, his emotive description of the

scene below him is intended to provoke an affirmative answer to his question, ‘nec,

si nullius alterius nos ne ciuium quidem horum pudet…?’ (22.14.4). He even goes so

far as to claim Fabius’ cunctatio on behalf of the army: (22.14.5: ‘nostra

cunctatione’), though of course from Minucius’ perspective the term and the strategy

it represents is a disgraceful one, as he makes clear by coupling it with socordia,

indolence.493 Minucius’ argument is clear and simple: that the whole army is tainted

by the shame of its general’s strategy.

Only when his speech has reached its emotional crescendo at 22.14.8 does

Minucius unleash his vitriol on the dictator directly. The attack (22.14.9-13) consists

of a series of negative comparisons between Fabius and great Roman generals of the

past, each intended to illustrate how far the dictator’s leadership has fallen short of

that of the maiores. Minucius begins with a sarcastic comparison between Fabius and

M. Furius Camillus (22.14.9-11): he askes whether the latter, like ‘this new Camillus,

this unparalleled dictator looked to by us in our afflicted state’ (22.14.9: ‘hic nouus

Camillus, nobis dictator unicus in rebus adfectis quaesitus), would have wandered

the uplands when Rome was threatened by the Gauls.494 In the same tone he invokes

492 Note the repeated references the senses, to sight (‘spectatum huc’, ‘spectamus’), hearing (‘strepunt

aures clamoribus…’), smell and even taste (‘fumus ex incendiis uillarum agrorumque in oculos atque

ora uenit’). Biggs 2016 points out that the language of the speech echoes the pastoral poetry of Livy’s

day, only to upend those idyllic associations with images of fire and bloodshed. He argues that scenes

of destruction on Italian soil would have been all the more evocative for readers who had lived through

the upheavals of the 40s and 30s. 493 Elliott 2009: 535. 494 ‘unicus’ parodies Ennius’ unus homo: Elliott 2009: 535; it also echoes the equally sarcastic title by

which Catullus (29.11) addresses Caesar, imperator unice: Loane 1903: 116. Cf. Minucius’ suggestion that Camillus would have had a good view of the Gauls from the Janiculum, a similarly sarcastic

allusion to Fabius’ policy of keeping to higher ground and monitoring Hannibal: 22.14.11. The sarcasm

is intended to make any comparison between the two dictators appear absurd: Elliott 2009: 535.

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L. Papirius Cursor, wondering whether he avenged the Caudine Forks by sticking to

the heights of Samnium or by attacking Luceria itself, then C. Lutatius Catulus, asking

if it was not by swift action that he won victory (22.14.12-13). Thus, Minucius, like

many orators in Livy, bolsters his arguments with exempla derived from the Roman

past. Chaplin points out, however, that Minucius misrepresents his exempla in his

effort to depict Fabius as unequal to his predecessors.495 This misreading of the past

will have disastrous consequences later, but for the moment, to judge from the

soldiers’ response to it (22.14.15; see below), it succeeds in diminishing the dictator

and his authority. Minucius ends with a what amounts to a summation of the anti-

Fabian position: ‘ “Roman power was made by daring and doing, not by these dilatory

policies that cowards call cautious” ’ (22.14.14: ‘audendo atque agendo res Romana

creuit, non his segnibus consiliis quae timidi cauta uocant’).

The concluding sentence of the chapter, 22.14.15, indicates that this speech is

intended as an example of the kind of diatribes that Minucius engaged in on several

occasions during the campaign.496 It also gives a distinct political slant to Minucius’

oratory. The speech (and, implicitly, others given by Minucius) is located firmly in a

military context by Livy’s description of the magister equitum speaking before the

cavalrymen and tribunes of the army, and of his words circulating among the common

soldiers too.497 Minucius is described addressing the troops with a participle form of

contionari, meaning to hold or speak to a contio (contionanti Minucio), 498 but

although contio and its cognates had strong associations with domestic political

meetings in first-century writers, it is also regularly used by Livy to describe

assemblies of soldiers.499 The conclusion of the sentence, however, activates political

connotations of contionanti Minucio by attaching a hypothetical political effect to his

oratory, for ‘if the matter had rested on soldiers’ votes, they showed without doubt

that they would prefer Minucius to their general Fabius’ (ac si militaris suffragii res

esset, haud dubie ferebant Minucium Fabio duci praelaturos). This political turn is

495 Chaplin 2000: 115, noting that neither Camillus nor Papirius acts with the aggression and haste that

Minucius imputes to them. 496 N.B. 22.14.15: haec uelut contionanti Minucio circumfundebatur…multitudo: haec together with

the imperfect verb suggesting that Minucius spoke like this repeatedly. 497 22.14.15: circumfundebatur tribunorum equitumque Romanorum multitudo, et ad aures quoque

militum dicta ferocia euoluebantur… (‘with a crowd of tribunes and Roman equites flocking round,

and his vicious words would be disclosed to the ears of the soldiers too…’)[.] 498 Thompson and Plaistowe 1896: 87; Dimsdale 1959: 113. 499 E.g. 21.53.6; 22.30.6; 23.14.3, 10; 24.16.7; 25.38.1; 26.41.3; 26.43.2, etc. On military contiones

during the Republic, see Pina Polo 1989: 199-218; 1995: 213-15.

185

not entirely unexpected, however. As mentioned, at 22.14.1 Livy introduces the

speech by calling to mind seditio, a term that unambiguously denotes political

upheaval, and recalls episodes in the earlier books of the AUC that are often incited

by mass oratory. 22.14.1 and 15 thus constitute a kind of thematic ring composition,

introducing and concluding the magister equitum’s speech with suggestions of dire

political consequences that foreshadow what is to come later in the book.

The speech itself also has a political undercurrent, which derives from its use

of a rhetorical tactic familiar from late Republican political invective. In the first

century a fairly common way of attacking individual nobiles or the nobilitas as a

whole was to suggest that the target of the invective had failed to live up to the

standards of their illustrious ancestors.500 The argument is of course connected to the

apparently ubiquitous sense among the Romans that the present represented a decline

from a more glorious and moral past, but it draws its particular strength from the

concept of nobilitas itself.501 The hereditary principle on which the nobility’s claims

to leadership were based was widely accepted: it was assumed that a given generation

of a family would be much like previous generations in ability, indeed even in

temperament. That this was manifestly not always the case does not appear to have

damaged Roman faith in the principle of hereditary nobility, but it did give those

outside the nobilitas a powerful rhetorical weapon against socially superior

opponents.502 It is hardly surprising, then, that the late Republic’s most famous nouus

homo deploys this device on both his own and other new men’s behalf.503 But the

rhetorical use of the idea of a corrupt and degenerate nobilitas was not unique to

Cicero, as a number of orations in Sallust’s works show. 504 Minucius’ attack on

Fabius is not an attack on the dictator’s nobilitas, but it nevertheless draws much of

its force from this rhetorical trope. Minucius invokes the patres repeatedly in order to

accentuate the shame of cunctatio, specifically framing the failure to challenge the

Carthaginians as a sign of the decline of Roman manhood at 22.14.6: tantum pro!

degeneramus a patribus nostris etc. His presentation of Fabius as a failure compared

500 Morstein-Marx 2013: 43. 501 Yakobson 2014: 299-300. 502 Cf. Yakobson 2014: 293-6, on how Marius in Sall. Iug. 85 turns the inherited military prestige of

the nobiles, undermined by recent setbacks in the war with Jugurtha, against them, without rejecting

the principle of nobility. 503 Cic. Mur. 16; Pis. 1-2; Verr. 2.5.180-2; cf. the comment attributed to Labienus in Cic. Rab. perd.

20. 504 Sall. Iug. 85.4, 10-25, 29-30, 37-43; Hist. 1.55.3; 1.77.6-7 Maur.

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to the generals of previous generations plays on the same concept. This rhetorical

tactic gives Minucius’ words a political tone that complements the hints, in the

narrative that situates the speech (22.14.1 and 15), that this should be read as a

political oration despite its martial setting.

4.2.2 Orations against Fabius Maximus

In the chapters that follow Minucius’ diatribe there is only a single reference to him

speaking in public again, when L. Hostilius Mancinus is described as one of a ‘crowd

of youths who listened often to the magister equitum addressing contiones furiously’

(22.15.5: turba iuuenum audientium saepe ferociter contionantem magistrum

equitum). But once again the phrasing indicates that Minucius should be thought of

as making his tirades repeatedly, and again the participle contionans invites a political

reading of his speeches. The short episode in which this reference appears (22.15.4-

10) also gives a clear indication of the pernicious effects of Minucius’ oratory, as

Mancinus, ‘his spirit seized by violence, and the instructions of the dictator forgotten’

(22.15.6: occupatus certamine est animus excideruntque praecepta dictatoris), leads

his cavalry against a force of Numidians, and to their deaths. Yet in spite of this

ominous event, Fabius’ cunctatio earns the contempt of both soldiers and civilians,

especially after his magister equitum wins a narrow victory while he is absent.505

Reports of Minucius’ victory generate a flurry of political activity ‘both in the

senate and in contione’ (22.25.1: de iis rebus persaepe et in senatu et in contione

actum est), and in the chapters that follow (22.25-6) oratory in both venues plays a

pivotal part. The dictator’s less than enthusiastic reaction to the news provokes a

speech from the tribune of plebs M. Metilius (22.25.3-11). Related in oratio obliqua,

Metilius’ oration is less detailed and less eloquent than that of Minucius at 22.14.3-

14, and the accusations it levels against the dictator are even more inflammatory. It is

also more overtly political than Minucius’ speech: like the earlier oration, it employs

rhetorical tactics that echo late Republican invective, but in this case they are used to

505 22.23.3: [cunctatio Fabi] contempta erat inter ciues armatos pariter togatosque utique postquam

absente eo temeritate magistri equitum laeto uerius dixerim quam prospero euentu pugnatum fuerat

(‘[Fabius’ delaying’] was despised by soldiers and civilians equally, especially afterwards when, in his

absence, there had been fighting due to the magister equitum’s recklessness with an outcome I should

more truthfully call happy than fortunate’). Livy minimises the scale of the Roman victory, and

explains that its scale was exaggerated at Rome by <uana> fama and by uaniores litterae sent by

Minucius (22.24; cf. 22.23.3). As at 22.12.5-6, Livy emphasises the effectiveness of Fabius’ tactics,

and the obtuseness of his countrymen’s response to it, by pointing out Hannibal’s worries and his

recognition of the dictator’s ability: 22.23.2-3; cf. 22.24.3.

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attack Fabius on political as well as military grounds. Metilius accuses Fabius of

deliberately prolonging the war in order to retain his dictatorial powers:

non praesentem solum dictatorem obstitisse rei bene gerendae sed

absentem etiam gestae obstare, et in ducendo bello sedulo tempus

terere quo diutius in magistratu sit solusque et Romae et in exercitu

imperium habeat (22.25.4).

the dictator had not only stood in the way of things being done properly

when he was present, but even when something was accomplished with

him absent he stood in the way; and he was wasting time in

intentionally prolonging the war so as to remain in office longer and to

hold imperium alone both at Roman and in the army.

Like Minucius, Metilius misrepresents the dictator’s strategy in his effort to discredit

not only the strategy but the dictator himself. Metilius’ explanation of cunctatio

differs from that of Minucius, however: the latter implies that cunctatio is a

consequence of flaws in Fabius’ character, of his personal lack of uirtus, by

contrasting him with the generals of the past; Metilius, on the other hand, represents

cunctatio as a deliberate attempt to monopolise power. Accusing an opponent of

abusing the powers of his office or of illegally accumulating power was a common

tactic in late Republican political oratory, and in its most extreme form this tactic

manifests as accusations of aspiring to regnum/dominatio/tyrannis, aspiring to

kingship or tyranny.506 The favourable portrayal of Fabius in the preceding chapters

makes the charge ridiculous, of course, and Livy underlines the falsehood and the

foolishness of Metilius’ accusations by having him fall prey to one of Hannibal’s

deceits. Earlier, at 22.23.4, Livy mentions that the Carthaginian ordered his troops to

spare the dictator’s lands, in a deliberate and evidently successful effort to undermine

Roman confidence in him. Metilius does not go so far as to accuse Fabius of

collaborating with the enemy, as Hannibal had hoped, but he does say that the dictator

used the legions of the Roman people to protect his own estate at the expense of

Campania, Cales and Falerii.507 The tribune’s arguments against Fabius are therefore

patently false, but his suggestion that the dictator is abusing his position quo diutius

in magistratu sit solusque et Romae et in exercitu imperium habeat, with its echoes

506 On accusations of tyranny during the Republic, see Wirszubski 1950: 62-4; Earl 1963: 105-6;

Dunkle 1967: 151-9; cf. Syme 1939: 152. 507 22.25.7: Campanum Calenumque et Falernum agrum pervastatos esse sedente Casilini dictatore et

legionibus populi Romani agrum suum tutante (‘The lands of Campania and Cales and Falerii had been

laid waste while the dictator sat around at Casilinum and legions of the Roman people guarded his

lands’).

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of late Republican rhetoric, will have imbued the speech with a degree of

verisimilitude. It must have struck readers familiar with the politics and oratory of

recent times as exactly the sort of argument that a speaker would deploy against an

opponent in Fabius’ position.

Metilius concludes his contio by proposing that the magister equitum be given

powers equal to those of the dictator (22.25.10). Fabius for his part ‘held himself aloof

from the contiones’, seeing that his cause was most unpopular (22.25.12: contionibus

se abstinuit in actione minime populari). He does defend his strategy in the senate,

however, arguing that, whereas temeritas and inscitia has brought disaster, with

himself in command and subject only to his mind and reason, people will soon learn

that with a good general the whims of fortune matter little; he explains that under the

current circumstances preserving Rome’s forces is in fact more glorious than killing

thousands of the enemy (22.25.12-15). Livy, however, prefaces his summary of

Fabius’ justification by noting that the dictator was received with little enthusiasm by

the senate (22.25.12: ne in senatu quidem satis aequis auribus audiebatur…). Fabius’

words are deprived in advance of any force over their internal audience, so it comes

as no surprise when, in conclusion, his orationes are described as having no effect

(22.25.16: huius generis orationibus frustra habitis). The dictator’s arguments merely

serve to accentuate the collective blindness of the senate and people to the dangers of

abandoning the Fabian strategy.

Still refusing to dignify the question of his command in public, the dictator

departs from the city the day before the Metilius’ rogatio is put to the concilium plebis

(22.25.16). The public attacks on Fabius have evidently had the intended effect, for

Livy describes the mood of the uolgus as one of silent inuidia towards the dictator

and fauor towards his magister equitum, but still the assembly does not dare to support

the bill openly.508 One man alone urges the passage of the bill: the previous year’s

praetor, C. Terentius Varro (22.25.18). In the brief and very negative biography

(22.25.18-26.4) that follows Livy presents the nouus homo as someone who has made

a career out of malicious oratory, who, ‘by declaiming on behalf of base men and

causes at the expense of the property and reputation of good people, came first to

508 22.25.17: magis tacita inuidia dictatoris fauorque magistri equitum animos uersabat quam satis

audebant homines ad suadendum quod uolgo placebat prodire (‘more silent hatred of the dictator and

favour toward the magister equitum affected [the plebs’] hearts than there were men who dared to come

forward to argue for what pleased the rabble’).

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attention of the peole, and thereafter to public offices’ (22.26.1-2: proclamando pro

sordidis hominibus causisque aduersus rem et famam bonorum primum in notitiam

populi, deinde ad honores peruenit). Now, with his eyes on a consulate, Varro deploys

his skills in an opportunistic attempt to gain popularity by exploiting the widespread

antipathy towards the dictator (22.26.3-4). Livy does not relate what Varro said in

support of Metilius’ bill, but it evidently succeeds in galvanising the plebs into passing

it. Thus, over the course of 22.25-6 contional oratory undermines the Romans’ trust

in Fabius and his strategy, first rousing inuidia against the dictator and fauor towards

his second-in-command, then securing the passage of the bill to grant Minucius equal

powers. Conversely, Fabius’ oratory in the senate fails to win him the support of the

patres, and so does nothing to stop the challenge to his command in the concilium

plebis.

Inevitably, Minucius’ command is a disaster, and his army is only saved from

total defeat by the timely intervention of Fabius (22.27-9). A chastened Minucius

publicly acknowledges Fabius’ superiority as a general, and leads his men in

supplication to the dictator’s camp to disavow the powers granted him by Metilius’

law (22.29.8-30.6). But although the news of Fabius’ victory meets with rejoicing at

Rome, the lesson learnt by Minucius is evidently lost on the Roman people, for the

Fabian strategy and its author are still a matter of contention at the consular elections

later that year. The elections for the consulate of 216 (22.34-35) are the culmination

of the anti-Fabian sentiment first articulated by Minucius and then spread by Metilius

and Varro at Rome, and as in the previous episodes Livy foregrounds the pernicious

rôle of oratory, depicting it as the weapon of choice for Fabius’ detractors. Livy also

describes the elections as a ‘great struggle between the patres and the plebs’ (22.34.1:

magno certamine patrum ac plebis), and, as modern readers have noted, the episode

is in many ways a throwback to the earlier contests between patricians and plebeians

in Books 2-10.509 The parallels with the ‘Struggle of the Orders’ have tended to

occlude the echoes of later Roman politics and, once again, of late Republican rhetoric

in the episode.

The leading candidate for the consulate is C. Terentius Varro, whose

popularity among the plebs, Livy reminds the reader, is owed to a career of

inflammatory, anti-aristocratic oratory, directed most recently at Q. Fabius Maximus:

509 E.g. Gruen 1978: 62.

190

C. Terentio Varroni, quem sui generis hominem, plebi insectatione

principum popularibusque artibus conciliatum, ab Q. Fabi opibus et

dictatorio imperio concusso aliena inuidia splendentem uolgus

extrahere ad consulatum nitebatur (22.34.2) … 510

C. Terentius Varro – whom the rabble was endeavouring to elevate to

the consulate, having endeared himself to the plebs (he who was one of

their own kind) by railing against the leading men and by the

demagogic arts – was illustrious through another man’s unpopularity

on account of the blow dealt to Q. Fabius’ position and dictatorial

imperium…

The dangerous potential of Varro’s career as a speaker is recognised by the patres,

who oppose the man’s election lest his success establish a precedent for achieving

high office through insectatio, his kind of hostile oratory. 511 There immediately

follows an example of precisely this type of anti-aristocratic invective, which proves

the patres’ fears justified by contributing to Varro’s electoral victory.

Like the words ascribed to M. Metilius at 22.25.3-11, the diatribe in oratio

obliqua at 22.34.2-11 is evidently intended as a sample of the kind of speeches given

by the tribune of plebs Q. Baebius Herennius, Varro’s kinsman and apparently a

kindred spirit too.512 And like Metilius’ speech, Herennius’ employs rhetoric typical

of late Republican political invective. But whereas the former uses the familiar

accusation of aspiring to tyranny to attack Fabius Maximus alone, the latter draws on

a related but subtly different trope to extend its attack to encompass the aristocracy as

a whole.

Historians of Roman politics have pointed out that the legitimacy of the senate

and of its leading rôle in the res publica appear to have been universally accepted in

the late Republic; at least, there is little evidence of any anti-senatorial traditions or

510 Livy has already noted the popularity that Varro gained through his attack on Fabius at 22.26.4. The

phrase aliena inuidia spendentem, as noted above, is later echoed by the senate’s assessment of the

Petillii’s motives for attacking Scipio Africanus (38.53.7) N.B. Although Livy’s opposition of plebs

and patres harks back to his earlier narrative of the ‘Struggle of the Orders’, it is clear from both his

earlier account of Varro’s background and his equation here of plebs with uolgus that Varro is

demonised not for being a plebeian as opposed to a patrician, but for being one of the common mob. 511 22.34.2: patres summa ope obstabant ne se insectando sibi aequari adsuescerent homines (‘the

patres opposed [Varro] with the utmost effort, lest men become accustomed to rising to their ranks by delivering invectives’). 512 The use of the plural orationes in relation to Herennius’ invective at 22.35.1 (cum his orationibus

accensa plebs esset…) indicates that he spoke in this way on multiple occasions.

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tropes in late Republican rhetoric.513 There is, however, ample evidence of a tradition

of anti-nobilis rhetoric. 514 This has already been mentioned in connection with

Minucius’ suggestion that by failing to engage Hannibal directly Fabius has failed to

live up to the standards of the past. Arguing that contemporary nobiles fell short of

the moral standards and personal accomplishments of their ancestors was one way of

attacking their dominance in the political sphere.515 The argument could be used to

discredit individuals, as in the case of L. Calpurnius Piso whom Cicero accused of

owing his magistracies to his illustrious name, rather than to any merits of his own:

nam tu cum quaestor es factus, etiam qui te numquam uiderant, tamen

illum honorem nomini mandabant tuo. aedilis es factus: Piso est a

populo Romano factus, non iste Piso. praetura item maioribus delata

est tuis. noti erant illi mortui, te uiuum nondum nouerat quisquam (Pis.

2).516

For when you were made quaestor, even those who had never seen you

nonetheless bestowed that honour on your name. You were elected

aedile: a Piso was elected by the Roman people, but not this Piso. Then

the praetorship was conferred upon your ancestors: those dead men are

renowned; nobody yet knew you, the living person.

The same argument could also be directed at the nobilitas as a whole, as is often the

case in the political orations in Sallust.517 Marius, in his speech at Iug. 85 against the

nobiles who had opposed his bid for the consulate, attributes their successes to the

prestige of their ancestry while drawing invidious comparisons between those

ancestors and their degenerate descendants.518 Conversely, he makes a virtue of his

nouitas, presenting himself as a true heir to those ancient Romans who, like him, won

nobilitas for their personal merits and achievements (Sall. Iug. 85.4-40). As

mentioned above, Cicero also opposes virtuous nouitas to nobilitas on occasion, albeit

513 Meier (1965: 549-68, 593-9, 610-12) points out that there is no sign of any calls for fundamental

changes to the traditional powers of the senate: cf. Laser 1997: 158, 165-9, 188-93; Morstein-Marx

2004: 231-2. 514 Yakobson 2014: 296-300. 515 Yakobson 2014: 293-5, 299-300. 516 Cf. Pis. 1. See Yakobson 2014: 297. 517 These speeches need not – probably should not – be imagined to be historical (contra Paul 1984:

207, commenting that the speech at Sall. Iug. 85 ‘probably represents the substance of Marius’ actual

remarks; implicitly accepted by Yakobson 2014) for their content to be treated as a realistic

representation of late Republican rhetoric, for Sallust surely intended them to sound plausible to his mid-first century audience; Wiseman 1971: 111 and Evans 1994: 72 both detect echoes of late

Republican rhetoric in Marius’ speech at Iug. 85. 518 Sall. Iug. 85.4, 10-25, 29-30, 37-43. On the anti-nobilis rhetoric of this speech, see Yakobson 2014.

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with less venom than Sallust’s Marius.519 This rhetorical tactic had an understandable

appeal to noui homines seeking to justify their aspiration to the highest honores, but

Sallust’s work suggests that it was not only new men who decried the decline of the

nobility. He has the noble Lepidus denounce the eminent scions of the Bruti, Aemilii,

and Lutati for overthrowing their ancestors, and then has the equally noble Philippus,

after mentioning the good deeds of the Aemilii, denounce Lepidus as a mere bandit. 520

Regardless of their status, then, orators could represent their noble opponents –

individually or as a group –as degenerate and a disgrace to their ancestors when they

wished to undermine their hereditary claims to power and high office.

An alternative but associated way of doing the same thing was to depict the

power of the nobiles as tyranny (usually labelled dominatio or regnum). In the last

century of the Republic accusing opponents of aspiring to, or actually exercising, a

tyranny was a common rhetorical tactic.521 As noted above, this rhetoric could be used

to defame individual opponents, but it could also be directed at groups, and often the

group it was aimed at was composed of nobiles.522 The spectre of a clique or factio of

nobiles dominating the state and monopolising high office is raised by many of

Sallust’s orators. It is a central theme of the tribune C. Memmius’ speech at Iug. 31,

which presents the Roman state as the ‘ “plaything of a few men’s arrogance” ’

(‘ludibrio…superbiae paucorum’) in which the spirit of the people, his audience, has

been crushed by the ‘resources of a factio’ (‘opes factionis’).523 Memmius refers

repeatedly to the power of this factio, emphasising the unfair monopoly that a few

nobles exercise over the wealth and glory of the empire, over the priesthoods,

consulates, and triumphs; he depicts the nobiles as corrupt and violent, and aspiring

519 E.g. Cic. Leg. agr. 2.1-3, 100; Mur. 15-17, 19-30; Planc. 17-18, 23-4, 59, 61-2; Verr. 2.5.180-2. 520 Sall. Hist. 1.55.3; 1.77.6-7 Maur. 521 The classic analysis of the specific tropes associated with this practice is Dunkle 1967. 522 Meier 1965: 594-5; Morstein-Marx 2004: 230-2; 2013: 43; followed by Yakobson 2014: 290, 294. 523 Sall. Iug. 31.1-2: ‘multa me dehortantur a uobis, Quirites, ni studium rei publicae omnia superet:

opes factionis, uostra patientia, ius nullum, ac maxume quod innocentiae plus periculi quam honoris

est. nam illa quidem piget dicere, his annis quindecim quam ludibrio fueritis superbiae paucorum,

quam foede quamque inulti perierint uostri defensores, ut uobis animus ab ignauia atque socordia

conruptus sit’ (‘Many things discourage me from taking up your cause, Quirites – if zeal for the state

did not trump them all – the resources of a factio, your forbearance, the absence of justice, and above

all that there is more danger in store for uprightness than honour. Indeed it irks one to speak of these

things: how for fifteen years you have been the plaything of a few men’s arrogance, how your

protectors died horribly and unavenged, how your spirit has been ruined by cowardice and idleness’). The idea of a decline from ancestral virtues could be used to shame the plebs as well as the nobiles:

see also Iug. 31.14-17, 20. Cf. Metilius’ references to his plebeian audience’s pusillanimity: Livy

22.25.10.

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to dominatio.524 Similar sentiments are expressed by Marius, by Catilina in the Bellum

Catilinum, and by Lepidus and Macer in the Historiae.525 Nor was this simply a trope

of Sallustian historiography.526 Caesar, in Commentarii intended for circulation in

public, claims that he justified his invasion of Italy in a speech to his soldiers by his

desire to ‘restore the freedom of himself and the Roman people who had been

oppressed by the factio of the few’ (BCiv. 1.22.5: ut se et populum Romanum factione

paucorum oppressum in libertatem uindicaret).527 Caesar’s heir echoed his words

closely when, decades later, he publically justified his own use of force against fellow

citizens, claiming that he ‘restored the freedom of the res publica which was

oppressed by the despotism of a factio’ (Aug. RG 1: per quem rem publicam [a

d]ominatione factionis oppressam in libertatem uindica[ui). These two attestations

suggest that proclaiming opposition to tyrannical cliques within the élite did have the

political currency that Sallust attributes to it. Even Cicero, hardly a vocal critic of the

establishment, was not above conjuring the spectre of noble domination when it

served his purposes, before a contional audience with whom he appears to have

assumed it would carry weight.528 Thus, orators who set themselves in opposition to

the ruling order (or parts of it) could present themselves as enemies not of the senate,

but of the corrupt and degenerate nobiles who dominated it; indeed, they might even

argue that they were defending the senate’s integrity and auctoritas from corrupt

elements within it.529

Many elements of this late Republican rhetoric are present in Livy’s account

of Herennius’ invectives against Rome’s leaders. Livy introduces the tribune’s

524 factio: Sall. Iug. 31.1, 4, 15; corruption, misgovernment, and misappropriation of the benefits of

empire: 31.9, 12, 19-20, 23-5; monopoly of honores: 31.10 violence: 31.1, 7-8, 13; aspiration to

dominatio: 31.16, 20, 23. 525 Sall. Iug. 85; Cat. 20.5-13; Hist. 1.55.2-3; 3.48 Maur. 526 See Syme 1939: 155-6. 527 The contemporary currency of this rhetoric is also indicated by the author of the Commentarii de

bello Africo 22.1-2, whose Cato says that when as a young man Cn. Pompeius ‘ “perceived that the

state was oppressed by impious and wicked citizens” ’ he ‘ “restored freedom to Italy and the city of

Rome” ’ (‘animaduertisset rem publicam ab nefariis sceleratisque ciuibus oppressam…Italiam

urbemque Romanum in libertatem uindicauit’); cf. Syme 1939: 155, accepting this an authentic report

of Pompeius’ justification for taking up arms. 528 Cic. Leg. agr. 2.3, referring to the nobility’s monopoly of the consulate, which Cicero describes as

a ‘position which the nobility holds, fortified by guards and walled off by every means’ (locum, quem

nobilitas praesidiis firmatum atque omni ratione obuallatum tenebat). By presenting himself as an

outsider to the political élite, indebted to the populus alone for his consulate, Cicero strengthens his

claim to have the people’s best interests at heart when he speaks out against Rullus’ agrarian law: cf.

Jonkers 1963: 57. It is not the nobility, however, but Rullus and the prospective decemuiri whom

Cicero presents are a factio bent on tyranny. 529 E.g. Memmius in Sall. Iug. 31.25; Morstein-Marx 2004: 230-1.

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orations as an attack on ‘the senate’ (22.34.3: criminando…senatum), but the words

he puts into Herennius’ mouth target the nobiles specifically (at 22.34.4, 7, 8) with a

combination of familiar anti-noble rhetoric and accusations of secret alliances and

tyranny. Herennius blames a conspiracy of the nobiles, including Q. Fabius and the

consuls, for deliberately starting and prolonging the war:

ab hominibus nobilibus, per multos annos bellum quaerentibus,

Hannibalem in Italiam adductum; ab iisdem, cum debellari possit,

fraude bellum trahi (22.34.4).

Hannibal had been brought into Italy by noble men, who had been

seeking a war for many years; by these same men the war, although it

could be ended, was being dragged out through deceit.

Herennius justifies this last point with a reference to Minucius’ (tenuous) victory

(2.34.5), then blames Fabius for having split their armies in a deliberate attempt to

imperil his magister equitum, the better to be given the credit for saving the soldiers

he endangered (22.34.6). Next, the tribune turns on the consuls, accusing them too of

intentionally drawing out the war by practising ‘Fabian arts’, Fabianae artes (22.34.7)

– a reference the consuls’ adoption of Fabius’ tactics after he resigned his dictatorship

(and related by Livy in positive terms at 22.32.1-3). Again Herennius alleges that the

entire nobilitas, not just the commanders, is behind these efforts to prolong the

conflict, that ‘A pact had been made between all the nobles for this purpose’ (22.34.7:

id foedus inter omnes nobiles ictum). The echoes of the rhetoric of nobilis conspiracy

and domination are obvious: Sallust’s factio could easily be substituted for Livy’s

foedus. The solution that Herennius offers also draws on anti-nobilis rhetoric. He

declares that the war can only be ended by ‘true plebeian consul, that is, a new man;

for the plebeian nobles were already initiated into the same rites and had begun to

despise the plebs from the moment they had ceased to be despised by the patricians’

(22.34.7-8: nec finem ante belli habituros quam consulem uere plebeium, id est,

hominem nouum fecissent; nam plebeios nobiles iam eisdem initiatos esse sacris et

contemnere plebem, ex quo contemni patribus desierint, coepisse). Like Sallust’s

Marius, Herennius uses the trope of the degeneration of the nobiles to justify the need

for a nouus homo to conclude a war. It is hardly surprising, however preposterous it

might be, that the tribune follows this argument by suggesting that the patres have

conspired to prevent a new man’s election, with the consuls absenting themselves

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from Rome and the augurs annulling the appointment of the dictator, so that the

comitia were now in patrum potestate by means of an interregnum (22.34.9-11).

The absurdity of Herennius’ arguments, however, does not detract from their

effectiveness. Even before paraphrasing the tribune’s orations Livy establishes that

they aroused fauor towards C. Varro by provoking inuidia towards his opponents in

the senate (22.34.3: criminando non senatum modo sed etiam augures…per inuidiam

eorum fauorem candidato suo conciliabat). The chapter following Livy’s paraphrase

of Herennius’ speech confirms this. It begins: ‘When the plebs was inflamed by these

speeches’ (22.35.1: cum his orationibus accensa plebs esset), and goes on to describe

how Varro alone of six candidates (three patrician, two plebeian but ‘of noble

households’, nobilium familiarum) was elected; that is, without a colleague in the

consulate (22.35.2). This extraordinary result testifies to the power of Herennius and

Varro’s oratory: the success of their rhetoric is so comprehensive that it turns the

people against not only Fabius and his strategy but against the nobilitas as a whole.

Indeed, the nobilitas is only able to ensure the election of a colleague for Varro by

making all the other contestants withdraw from the contest, so that L. Aemilius

Paullus can be elected unopposed (22.35.3-4). As in the challenge to Fabius’

leadership at 22.25-6, so here inflammatory oratory dominates public discourse, with

no effective challenge offered to the demagoguery of Varro and Herennius.

The hold exercised by the former over politics outside of the senate through

his oratory is demonstrated one more time at 22.38.6-12.

contiones, priusquam ab urbe signa mouerentur, consulis Varronis

multae ac feroces fuere denuntiantis bellum arcessitum in Italiam ab

nobilibus, mansurumque in uisceribus rei publicae si plures Fabios

imperatores haberet, se quo die hostem uidisset perfecturum (22.38.6-

7).

Before the standards were moved from the city, there were many

insolent contiones of the consul Varro, who was declaring that the war

had been summoned to Italy by the nobiles, that it would remain in the

very bowels of the state if they had more Fabii for generals, that he

himself would end the war the day he caught sight of the enemy.

Varro’s multae ac feroces contiones appeal to the anti-Fabian sentiment and the fears

of nobilis tyranny that won him his consulate. Unlike Q. Fabius, Paullus does at least

urge a more cautious approach to Hannibal in public, but unlike his colleague he

speaks at only one contio, the day before the army’s departure (22.38.8). Livy’s

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summary of his speech (22.38.8-12) shows it to be calm and measured: its criticism

of Varro is temperate and sensible, urging that the campaign be conducted ‘cautiously

and with deliberation’, caute ac consulte, instead of with the temeritas that has

hitherto proved disastrous. The speech shows that Paullus has a safer strategy in mind,

as Livy remarks (22.38.13), but this does nothing to persuade his audience, or the

Roman people in general, to support a Fabian strategy in the coming campaign. For

once again Livy has anticipated the effects of a character’s oratory while introducing

it, noting at 22.38.8 that it was ‘more truthful than pleasing to the people’ (uerior

quam gratior populo). The Roman public, indulged by the rich invectives of Varro

and his ilk, have no appetite for the more modest fare offered by Paullus.

4.2.3 The dangers of contional oratory

The outcome of Varro and Paullus’ campaign can hardly have been unknown to

Livy’s audience, but still he has Q. Fabius anticipate the catastrophic defeat at Cannae

in the advice he gives to Paullus (22.39.8). Fabius stresses that the only effective way

to deal with Hannibal is to adopt his own strategy, just as the previous years’ consuls

had (22.39.9-17). Fabius, characteristically, advises Paullus to ignore the damage that

avoiding direct engagement with the enemy will do to his reputation (22.39.18-20).

But the consul, although a cautious general who recognises the danger Varro’s

command poses, is no second Fabius: he has suffered popular displeasure before, and

cannot ignore it as Fabius does. Instead, he says he would rather face the enemy’s

swords than the plebs’ ire another time.530 Fabius’ ability to despise rumor makes him

unique in these chapters of Book 22, in which unbridled speech is so prominent and

potent in Roman affairs.

Fabius interprets the dangerous potential of Varro’s oratory in military terms:

‘ “And someone who arouses such tempests now by boasting about battles and battle

lines among civilians – what will he do among the armed youth, where deed follows

words forthwith?” ’ (22.39.7: ‘et qui tantas iam nunc procellas proelia atque acies

iactando inter togatos ciet, quid inter armatam iuuentutem censes facturum et ubi

530 22.40.3: se populare incendium priore consulatu semustum effugisse…si quid aduersi caderet,

hostium se telis potius quam suffragiis iratorum ciuium caput obiecturum (‘He had escaped scorched

by a popular conflagration in his previous consulate…if it turned out badly, he would offer his head to

the swords of his enemies rather than to the votes of enraged citizens’). The details of the populare

incendium that haunts Paullus have been lost with Livy’s account of his first consulate, but that the

‘conflagration’ was political is suggested by the word suffragiis.

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extemplo res uerba sequitur?’) But the causal rôle of speeches and contiones in the

narrative of the events that took the Romans from a position of relative security under

Fabius’ dictatorship to the nadir of their fortunes in the Hannibalic War suggests that

the threat that demagogic oratory poses is far more acute in domestic than in military

affairs. Minucius’ orations do indeed inspire recklessness among his soldiers, as the

example of L. Hostilius Mancinus demonstrates. But the harm caused by Minucius’

oratory in the field pales in comparison to the harm caused by similarly demagogic

oratory at Rome. After all, the choice of an aggressive approach to Hannibal over

Fabius’ cautious strategy is a political one, and every one of the fateful decisions taken

by the Roman people on its course to its catastrophe at Cannae is heralded and

influenced by oratory. Metilius’ contiones undermine the people’s trust in Fabius and

his strategy; Varro’s support for the tribune’s bill on the day of the rogatio secures its

passage, leading to the appointment of Minucius to a position of equal authority with

the dictator. Fabius manages to avert disaster in the field, but the popularity that Varro

has earned by advocating Metilius’ bill, and more generally as an orator who has made

a career out of attacking the boni and the principes, sets him on course to win the

consulate and the Romans on course to disaster again. Herennius’ contiones, by

attaching the odium of the Fabian strategy to the nobilitas, hamstrings the noble

opposition to Varro’s candidacy and secures his election with overwhelming popular

support. Finally, Varro’s contiones before the start of the campaign ensure that his

policy of direct attack is favoured over his colleague Paullus’ preference for caution,

since the latter fears displeasing the people by obstructing the strategy they favour.

Public oratory is thus the driving force in the narrative of 22.14-38, propelling the

Romans from one bad political decision to another on an inexorable course to their

defeat at Cannae.

Long before Cannae, Livy’s invidious characterisations of this oratory (and of

the men who use it) signal that he intends it to be viewed negatively, but the bloody

culmination of its influence on Roman policy illustrates its dangerous potential in the

most dramatic fashion possible. The series of speeches and references to speech in

22.14-38 thus constitutes an extended negative exemplum, a warning about contional

demagoguery. What distinguishes this from the other negative exempla discussed in

the previous chapter is not only its protraction across several interlinked episodes, but

the striking absence of any effective opposition to it. On most other occasions in

which oratory plays an overtly negative rôle, that oratory is challenged, usually by a

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speech that reasserts the proper political order, and usually successfully. In Book 22,

however, there is no notable resistance to the demagogues’ domination of the

contiones. In keeping with the Ennian tradition, Fabius ignores his detractors and

refrains from responding to their criticisms in public: he does not deign to defend

himself from Metilius in a contio of his own, nor does he bother to stay in Rome to

present his case at the meeting before Metilius’ rogatio; and although he does offer a

defence of his strategy in the senate he fails to enlist its support. Livy does of course

describe the opposition of the patres to Varro’s consular candidacy, but he makes no

mention of any contiones held by Varro’s opponents; instead, he focuses entirely on

Herennius’ public attacks on the nobilitas. The summary of Paullus’ single speech at

22.38.8-12 is the only reference to any public reply to the opponents of the Fabian

strategy, but this meets with no more enthusiasm than Fabius’ speech to the senate.

The absence of serious resistance to the anti-Fabian oratory of Book 22 contrasts with

the emphasis on that oratory’s effectiveness. Again and again, Livy highlights the

support and popularity the orators earn for themselves and their political causes by

their speeches.531 Demagogic oratory completely dominates politics in the lead up to

the Battle of Cannae; indeed, it is only the shock of the massacre that breaks its hold

over the res publica.

There is therefore a distinct tension in the narrative of 22.12-38, between

Livy’s portrayal of demagogic oratory as malicious, deceitful, and harmful to state on

the one hand, and its manifest effectiveness as a political tool on the other. This

tension rather undermines the exemplary value of these chapters, because while the

narrative clearly shows that good citizens should not let themselves be seduced by

this kind of oratory, it also reflects no confidence in the Roman people’s ability to

resist that oratory when it is allowed to dominate public discourse.

The pessimistic implications of this series of episodes are not really borne out

in the extant books of the AUC, however. Speakers occasionally employ comparable

rhetoric to negative effect, as in the case of Baebius’ opportunistic attacks on the

nobiles before the first vote on the Second Macedonian War (31.6.4), but such rhetoric

is typically challenged and defeated, just as P. Galba challenges and overturns the

comitia’s initial decision by reasserting the auctoritas of the senate (31.7). At no other

point in Books 21-45 does oratory exercise such a malign and comprehensive

531 22.14.1, 15; 22.25.17; 22.26.2-4; 22.34.2-3; 22.35.1-2; 22.40.4.

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influence over public affairs as it does in 22.12-38. But the distinctive rhetoric that

characterises contional oratory in these chapters, with its attacks on the nobilitas and

accusations of tyranny, may indicate that it played a prominent part in Livy’s later

books. Again, although there are occasional echoes of late Republican rhetoric in the

remaining books, they never occur with the same frequency as they do in the sequence

of speeches between Trasumennus and Cannae. This implies that this type of rhetoric

was rare in the years covered by Books 21-45; the concentration of it in Book 22 is

an aberration in the politics of the middle Republic as Livy imagined it.

But this aberrant cluster of late Republican rhetorical tropes inevitably draws

the reader’s thoughts to more recent politics, and to the rôle invective had in Rome’s

descent into strife and civil war. If, as seems likely, Livy’s account of the decline of

the res publica included inflammatory speeches by demagogues at contiones, Book

22 may foreshadow the ruinous part that oratory was to play in those later books. If

this is the case, then it is all the more significant that Livy depicts the Roman people

as incapable of resisting manipulation by unscrupulous but effective orators. In Book

22 the only thing that breaks oratory’s spell over the populace is a Sallustian metus

hostilis, the terror of the existential threat posed by Hannibal in the aftermath of

Cannae.532 In later years, of course, the Romans had no serious external threats to

fear. Sallust famously dated the beginning of Rome’s political turmoil to the

elimination of Carthage, 533 but regardless of whether Livy concurred with his

predecessor he implies in Book 22 that without the fear of a foreign enemy to curtail

it demagogic oratory could lead the state into discordia and even imperil Rome’s very

existence.534 Hence, the speeches in the episodes discussed above not only illustrate

the danger inherent in demagogic oratory, but may well anticipate the realisation of

that danger in Livy’s lost later books too.

Thus, Book 22 problematises contional oratory. The previous chapters of this

thesis demonstrated that contiones are an integral part of the res publica as Livy

imagines it, despite occasionally being (mis)used to serve the self-interest of

532 Sallust’s influence on the early part of Livy’s third decade has long been recognised, the most

obvious evidence of which is Livy’s characterisation of Hannibal at 21.4.2-9, which is modeled on

Sallust’s portrait of Catilina (Cat. 5.3-5): see Walsh 1982: 1067; Clauss 1997: 169-82; Rossi 2004:

376-7. 533 Sall. Cat. 10.1-3; cf. Iug. 41.2-5. 534 Rossi 2004: 376-8 also recognises a Sallustian theme of decline in the AUC, and argues that for

Livy the beginning of Rome’s moral decline started not with the defeat of the Punic enemy in 146, but

with their defeat at Zama in 202.

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individual politicians, and their capacity to foment discordia. In 22.14-38, however,

contiones and public oratory are depicted unambiguously as harmful to the res

publica. They serve the ambition of self-interested and dangerously reckless men such

as M. Minucius and C. Varro, at the expense of Q. Fabius Maximus, an exemplary

figure comparable to Camillus in the AUC, whose leadership at home and in the field

saves Rome after the defeat at Trasumennus, and also at the expense of the nobilitas,

here closely identified with the senate and its auctoritas. In so doing, contional oratory

not only undermines the cohesion and traditional dynamics of leadership in the state:

it actually represents an existential threat to the res publica by encouraging the

Romans to adopt more aggressive tactics in place of Fabius’ strategy, which is

consistently portrayed as the safest and most effective way of dealing with Hannibal.

Livy does not depict contiones per se as dangerous; rather, it is a specific kind of

rhetoric, employed by a specific kind of orator, that poses a threat to the state. But he

does imply that this kind of oratory – characterised by an aggressive anti-nobilis

rhetoric that was common in the late Republic – has the potential to dominate the

contiones, and through the contiones exert a malign influence over legislation and

elections. The contio is therefore problematic because, being indispensable to the day-

to-day functioning of the state, it represents an open forum through which

irresponsible orators can exercise political power. And the destructive potential of

allowing this oratory a forum is amply demonstrated by the disastrous culmination of

its political influence at the Battle of Cannae.

Given this potential, it is somewhat surprising that contional oratory never

again exercises such an unambiguously negative influence over Roman affairs in the

extant books. But this is consistent with Livy’s depiction of the years covered in the

remaining portions of his narrative as a period of comparative stability at Rome. The

demagogues who occasionally appear in these books exert only a fleeting influence

over public affairs, as the previous chapter showed. Book 22 illustrates that the

populus that constitutes the audiences at contiones is eminently susceptible to

manipulation by articulate orators, however malevolent they might be. It would

therefore appear that responsibility for limiting the influence of demagogues lies not

with the people, who demonstrate no innate resistance to oratorical influence, but with

the senatorial élite; this is indeed the impression given by the analysis of contional

oratory in the preceding chapter. So, like the other cases discussed in this chapter, the

supremacy of demagogic oratory in 22.14-38 represents a temporary failure of

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Rome’s traditional leadership. If the argument that this particular case, with its

recognisably first-century rhetoric, presages the destructive rôle that contional oratory

was to have in Livy’s account of the collapse of order at Rome, then this analysis

would suggest that increased power of the demagogues in the later books resulted not

from any change among the populus – which was already easily influenced – but from

a decline in the quality of the senatorial order’s leadership.535

535 If correct, this analysis would mean that Livy’s explanation for late Republican discordia differs

from Sallust’s, which, envisaging a general moral decline, lays the blame on the populus for abusing

its libertas as well as on the nobiles: Iug. 41.5.

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Conclusion

At the start of his preface, Livy justifies his decision to embark on his great project

by describing the satisfaction it will bring him to memorialise the achievements of the

Roman nation:

iuuabit tamen rerum gestarum memoriae principis terrarum populi pro

uirili parte et ipsum consuluisse (praef. 3)…

it will be pleasing, however, to have done my part as a man and taken

thought for the memory of the things accomplished by the world’s

foremost people…

The verb Livy uses to convey the act of memorialising, consulere, is unexpected in

this context, and for Livy’s Roman readers it could not have failed to evoke the

traditional duties of Roman magistrates, especially the consuls, and of the senate.536

The choice of this verb indicates that the purpose of the Ab urbe condita is not simply

to preserve and pass on the memory of the Roman past, as other histories do, but to

give that memory the kind of publicly-minded consideration that Rome’s leaders were

expected to give the affairs of state.537

Thus, Livy frames his history as a political project from the outset. Yet, for

much of the last century, the political themes of the AUC rarely received more than a

cursory treatment by scholars, who were often dismissive of its author’s knowledge

of and interest in public affairs. In recent years, however, many assumptions about

Livy, as well as about the nature of politics in the Roman Republic, have been

reassessed. This thesis joins a growing body of scholarship that takes the political

project outlined in Livy’s praefatio seriously, and approaches the AUC as an

explicitly political text.

It also follows recent precedents in locating the politics of the AUC in the

tumultuous late Republic. While it was once more-or-less taken for granted that the

AUC was ‘Augustan’ in conception, outlook, and political ethos (insofar as it was

admitted to have had one), some recent treatments have made the case for interpreting

Livy’s political agenda as a response to the turmoil that engulfed the Roman state

536 Vasaly 2015: 22 suggests that the more commonplace tradere or mandare would have been more

expected in what at first glance appears a hackneyed statement of an historian’s purpose. 537 Kraus 1997: 52; Vasaly 2015: 22-4; cf. Moles 2009: 56-7.

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during his youth.538 Vasaly’s study of the first pentad, in particular, demonstrates how

fruitful it can be to read the AUC as a response to internal strife and civil war. It shows

that the history represents Livy’s efforts to do his civic duty, ‘his part as a man’

(praef. 3: pro uirili parte), by giving his fellow-citizens an account of the Roman past

that offers lessons about, and solutions to, the discordia that had plagued their state

in their own lifetimes.539 And those solutions are not ‘Augustan’ in any meaningful

sense; rather, Vasaly argues, they are as Republican as the problems they address:

Livy’s earliest books…proceeded from the premise that the

fundamental crisis facing Rome was the corruption of the system [he]

identified with the possession of civic freedom for its citizens and

worldwide imperium for the state. The challenge to which [Livy]

brought his unique gifts was thus the revival of the republic as a

republic…a system whose libertas was embodied in a form of the

traditional power and status exercised by the Roman senate and people

in the generations that preceded the civic breakdown of the Gracchan

period.540

As the conclusion to Chapter 1 noted, however, Vasaly distinguishes the first pentad’s

historical and political point of reference from that of the later books: the former, she

writes, looked back to the Republican past, the latter, implicitly, to the ‘Augustan

future’.541 It is certainly true that there are significant differences between the visions

of Roman politics that are presented in the two separate portions of Livy’s surviving

work. Comparing Vasaly’s findings and those of the preceding chapters of this thesis

will serve to highlight what is distinctive about Livy’s treatment of politics in Books

21-45; it will also show, however, that the political outlook of these books too is

grounded not in the nascent principate under which they were written, but in the

upheaval of the late Republic and the triumviral interregnum that followed it. A

comparison with Vasaly’s findings will therefore highlight how this thesis sheds new

light on the aims and functions of Livy’s history, and on his understanding of the

Roman political system.

538 N.B. the introductory remarks on the background and context of the AUC in Vasaly 2015: 1-8; cf.

Haimson Lushkov 2015: 20-1. 539 Vasaly 2015, esp. 122-37. 540 Vasaly 2015: 123. 541 Vasaly 2015: 123.

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tibi tuaeque rei publicae quod imitere capias…

As the Introduction to this thesis stressed, the most obvious difference between

Roman politics as Livy depicts it in his early books, on the one hand, and in Books

21-45 on the other, is the frequency of discordia in the former and the relative absence

thereof in the latter. Books 2-6, in particular, are structured around the alternation of

external threats and internal crises,542 whereas external affairs take up a much larger

proportion of the narrative of Books 21-45, and political conflicts are relatively

infrequent even in the limited space that Livy allots to internal affairs. In large part,

this difference reflects the distinct rôles that the two surviving portions of Livy’s work

played in the AUC’s grand narrative of Roman history: the first decade relates the

early growth of the state, charting the parallel development of its political system and

its Italian hegemony; the third, fourth, and fifth decades chart the rapid expansion of

Roman imperium to the west and east. The evolution of the libera res publica is a

major focus of the early books, whereas the focus of the later books is really the wars

and foreign conquests that created the empire, and as such politics, and hence

discordia, plays a comparatively minor rôle in the narrative of those books.

But the difference between the parts played by political conflict in the two

surviving portions of the AUC is not only one of frequency, but one of intensity or

severity. In the first pentad, as Vasaly’s analysis shows, the Roman state’s very

existence is repeatedly threatened by the discordia that prevails between the patricians

and the plebeians, because it leaves Rome vulnerable to her enemies and, on a number

of occasions, encourages would-be tyrants to seize power.543 In the books that have

been the subject of this thesis, however, Rome is never threatened by tyranny,

notwithstanding certain unscrupulous orators’ suggestions to the contrary. The

protracted struggle between plebeians and patricians over political and social rights

that is central to the narrative of Books 2-6, driving the cycle of internal conflict,544

is long over by the time of the events related in Books 21-45. As such, the plebeians

never threaten secessio in the later books. Moreover, the plebeians’ advocates, the

tribunes, the source of so much of the discord in the early books, 545 play a less

542 N.B. Vasaly’s admission, despite her own focus on the first pentad, that ‘the separability of the first

from the second pentad of the AUC is an artificial construct’ (2009: 123-4). 543 Tyranny and would-be tyrants: Vasaly 2015: 55-76, 104-7, 126-9. 544 Vasaly 2015: 135-6. 545 See Vasaly 2015: 96, 135.

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negative part in politics in Books 21-45. The preceding chapters of this thesis have

highlighted the change in the rôle of the tribunes of the plebs as Livy’s history

progresses, from an almost entirely negative force for disruption in the early books,

as Vasaly has shown,546 to a more typical magistracy that, although capable of harm,

also plays a constructive part in public affairs, cooperating with the senate and other

magistrates, and even resolving conflicts. And while still a frequent source of conflict

themselves, the tribunes in Books 21-45 never provoke anything approaching the

upheaval that their predecessors did: obviously there are no great battles over political

rights comparable to the Licinio-Sextian rogationes, but also notably absent from

these books are the land redistribution bills that Livy considers so toxic to the res

publica (2.52.2). Indeed, what internal discord there is in these books does not result

in anything as dangerous as seditio. Livy’s very language in Books 21-45 reflects the

diminished severity of the political conflicts in those books. The term seditio, like

discordia, is rarely used in relation to Roman affairs in Books 21-45.547 Livy tends to

refer to political conflicts and disputes at Rome as certamina or contentiones, terms

that convey discord without the suggestion of peril to the res publica inherent in

seditio.548 The most violent disturbance of Roman politics that occurs is these books

is the disruption of a tribunician contio by Postumius Pyrgensis and his fellow

publicani, and even this is described as only ‘nearly a great commotion’ (25.3.9:

magno prope motu) – in the end, it does not amount to seditio.549 (The Bacchanalia

affair, while depicted as a threat to the state, is not a product of discordia within the

Roman polity, but of the malign influence of a foreign religion on Roman morals.)

546 Vasaly 2015: 96; cf. 113-16. 547 seditio is most frequently applied to foreign states and soldiers in Books 21-45. The term is

occasionally used in relation to Roman soldiers, e.g. during the mutiny at Sucro (28.24-38), or to

describe mutinous behaviour, e.g. of the legionaries before Cannae (22.42.4; 22.44.5). The spectres of seditio and secessio are however invoked by orators at other points in Books 21-45, e.g. by the Petillii,

who label Africanus’ departure from their contio a secessio (38.52.5), and by Cato in his description

of the women who have come out in public to urge the repeal of the lex Oppia (34.2.7). But the accuracy

of this rhetoric is not upheld by the narrative, which labels both affairs certamina (34.1.1; 38.50.1);

note also Valerius’ criticism of Cato’s use of these invidious terms (34.5.5-6; 34.7.14). 548 On the political significance of seditio and the related term seditiosus, see Hellegouarc’h 1963: 135-

7, 531-2; Robb 2010: 150-62. 549 This impression is reinforced by the words of the consul Q. Fulvius Flaccus, who anticipates seditio,

but only if the assembly is not dismissed promptly by the tribunes (25.3.19: ‘nonne uidetis’ inquit

‘…rem ad seditionem spectare, nisi propere dimittitis plebis concilium?’), as in fact it is. Cf. the

popular response to the consular edict compelling citizens to furnish oarsmen for the navy, which Livy

describes as so indignant that it lacked only a leader rather than fuel for seditio (26.35.4: tanta

indignatio fuit ut magis dux quam materia seditioni deesset). The mutinous attitude aroused by M.

Minucius Rufus is also depicted as almost, but not quite, seditio (22.14.1: prope de integro seditio,

‘nearly the start of a seditio’).

206

The infrequency and mildness of political upheaval in Books 21-45 supports

the contention that was made in the Introduction, that these books represent the apex

of political harmony, concordia maxuma, that Roman tradition and contemporary

historiography located in what modern historians call the middle Republic. A distinct

phase of Roman political history, as Livy understood it, is represented in the part of

the AUC that has been the subject of this thesis, and it is sufficiently distinctive to

merit consideration in its own right. But although Books 21-45 represent a discrete

moment in the AUC’s history of the res publica, there is considerable continuity

between the political themes of these and the earlier books, and this continuity

confirms that Livy’s depiction of politics in the extant later books was inspired and

shaped by the same late Republican concerns identified by Vasaly.

Oratory loomed large in the political life of the res publica. It was a regular

feature of the meetings of the senate and of the populus, the means by which matters

of public interest debated and communicated to the masses, but, in the late Republic,

oratory was also associated with the eloquent demagogues who periodically

challenged the status quo and incited discord, sometimes with violent consequences.

Oratory plays a similarly ambiguous rôle in the politics of AUC Books 21-45, just as

it does in the earlier books. Vasaly’s study of the first pentad highlights the potential

of persuasive rhetoric, particularly when it is addressed to a public audience, to

generate discordia: ‘Livy…recognises the danger represented by the divorce of

eloquence from virtue’, and illustrates this danger in the numerous episodes in which

demagogues foment disorder for their own selfish purposes.550 But Livy also depicts

oratory as a force for good when it is used to maintain or restore concordia or to

persuade an audience to adopt a wise and moral course of action.551 Vasaly attributes

the ability of virtuous orators such as T. Quinctius Capitolinus, Cincinnatus, and

Camillus to persuade and influence their audiences positively, not to their eloquence

(or at least not to their eloquence alone), but to their ability to project their personal

virtue and auctoritas through their speech.552 These conclusions are largely borne out

by the preceding chapters. Livy does not present public oratory as inherently good or

bad in Books 21-45: whether a speech or speaker is depicted positively or negatively

depends for the most part on the speaker’s motives, and sometimes on the effects of

550 Vasaly 2015: 131; also see 104-7 and 113-16 on demagogic oratory. 551 Vasaly 2015: 77-95, 131-2. 552 Vasaly 2015: 131-2.

207

a speech regardless of its author’s intentions. A speech’s effectiveness, however, is

not dependent on its author’s motives. As Chapter 4.2’s examination of oratory in

Book 22 makes abundantly clear, self-serving orators who employ the demagogic

arts, populares artes, to sew discordia in pursuit of their personal goals are perfectly

capable of successfully manipulating the Roman people, through falsehoods and

emotive appeals to their prejudices, into making bad, even dangerous decisions. But

the situation in Book 22 is not typical of Livy’s third, fourth, and fifth decades, where

more often than not demagogues are challenged and defeated by other speakers. The

speeches that Livy counterposes to demagogic oratory or, on other occasions, uses to

illustrate how potentially harmful decisions were averted, may employ reasoned

argument or appeals to mos maiorum, religion, and auctoritas senatus to persuade

their audiences. But the best orators in Books 21-45, like those in the first pentad

discussed by Vasaly, are persuasive because their speeches convey their own their

moral auctoritas. 553 There is no better exemplar of this characteristic of Livy’s

depiction of political oratory in the later books than Ti. Sempronius Gracchus, whose

moral authority is reflected in the speeches he makes before the people in defence of

the Scipiones and against his fellow tribune Aburius in the senate. In each instance,

Gracchus’ effectiveness as an orator derives above all from his disinterested

explication of the ethics of the cases in question, which recalls the people to whom

his speeches are addressed to their moral senses, thus averting injustice and restoring

concordia.

As for the causes of discordia in Books 21-45, these too are essentially the

same as those that Vasaly identifies in Livy’s early books. Self-interest, particularly

in the form of a desire for power and prestige or ambitio, is at the root of the attempts

of Sp. Maelius, Sp. Cassius, App. Claudius the decemvir, and M. Manlius Capitolinus

to establish tyrannies; it is also the cause of much of the strife provoked by tribunes

of the plebs.554 Chapter 3 above identifies self-interest as the main source of discordia

in Livy’s extant later books as well, and again, it is unbridled ambitio that is behind a

large proportion of the political conflicts in these books. ambitio is thus the perennial

553 As Vasaly notes, the persuasive power of virtue in Livy means that even simple, low-status

individuals can be effective orators. Such orators are less common in Books 21-45, but the case of Sp.

Ligustinus, the common soldier who moves his comrades to withdraw their objections to the terms of

their conscription through his personal example and a simple and honest assertion of deference owed

to the auctoritas of the senate and magistrates (42.34), demonstrates that the principle remains true. 554 Vasaly 2015: 134-5.

208

political vice of the Romans, but it is not their only one. In his praefatio (11) Livy

stressed that auaritia and luxuria developed late among the Romans, and even in the

years covered by Books 21-45 they rarely cause trouble. On the occasions that they

do, however, the trouble they cause is serious: auaritia leads to the violent disruption

of the concilium plebis by the publicani at 25.3.8-19, while luxuria provokes the

struggle over the repeal of the lex Oppia, which sees tribunes of the plebs besieged in

their homes and pressured to withdraw their veto (34.1.1-8.3). More common political

vices in these books are a disregard for the public good for the sake of personal

associations and inimicitiae, and, in some cases, a blatant disdain for the auctoritas

of the senate. Books 21-45 illustrate how self-interest in the form of these vices can

provoke disunity in the state, disrupt its administration, and in the worst cases

endanger the existence of Rome itself.

As self-interest is the cause of most political conflict in Books 21-45, so

concordia depends a willingness to prioritise the good of the res publica, even at the

expense of personal interests. Vasaly defines this quality as moderatio, a virtue that

Livy, in an authorial aside (3.65.11), implies is essential to maintaining peace within

the state.555 In Livy’s account of the early Republic, moderatio is the hallmark of good

leadership and, when exercised by both the plebs and the senatorial élite, averts the

worst excesses of discordia. The plebeians as a social class have less opportunity to

display moderatio in the books that are the focus of this thesis, as the grievances that

motivated them in the first decade have by this point been addressed.556 Among the

political élite, however, moderatio remains a positive and beneficial trait. Time and

again, magistrates and other prominent figures display moderatio by settling disputes

peacefully, often following the advice of the senate. In fact, a willingness to be guided

by the auctoritas and consensus of the senate, by its collective moral authority and

wisdom, is the other foundation of the concordia that prevails in Books 21-45. This

concordia is thus based on the conduct of Rome’s leaders, individually and

collectively. Individual members of the ruling élite, in or out of office, typically

behave in a manner commensurate with the general good of their fatherland.

Magistrates use their position and power for res publica, not res priuata, guided by

555 Vasaly 2015: 136-7. 556 A noteworthy plebeian exemplar of moderatio in these books is Sp. Ligustinus, mentioned above,

whose willingness to forgo the rank and dignity that ought by right to be his out of deference to the

auctoritas of the senate and magistrates (42.34.13-15) ambly demonstrates this quality.

209

auctoritas consensusque senatus. The best leaders, in fact, perform the duties of their

offices with an instinctive awareness of what the patres would wish, as Q. Fabius

Maximus does in Book 22 when he advises the senate on the proper course of action

to take in the wake of military defeats, or as Ti. Sempronius Gracchus does in Book

38 when he defends Scipio Africanus, and in so doing preserves the honour of the

Roman nation. By furnishing his reader with exempla such as these, Livy illustrates

the kind of personal conduct that, when practised widely, creates a society and a

political order that is resistant to the evils of discordia.

This study of Books 21-45 therefore demonstrates, contrary to Vasaly’s

implicit differentiation between Livy’s first pentad and his subsequent books, that the

latter are in fact shaped by a late Republican concern for concordia and discordia,

just as the earlier books are, and that the solutions they offer to political problems are

equally ‘republican’, in the sense that they reaffirm the traditional moral principles

and power structures of the libera res publica. There is no Augustan turn in the

politics of the extant later books. When he came to write Books 21-45, Livy was

clearly conscious that the cycle of civil war had ended, at least for the moment, and

that his countrymen seemed to have recovered their concern for concordia; and yet

the problems that had provoked discordia in the past decades remained the focus of

his treatment of politics. This thesis has therefore shown that the political themes

explored so deftly by Vasaly in her analysis of the first pentad remained consistent

across the whole of Livy’s surviving work. The didactic purpose of the third, fourth,

and fifth decades was the same as that of the first: to present the Roman people with

models of behaviour that would benefit their state as much as themselves, models of

virtuous citizenship to emulate as well as models of harmful self-interest to avoid.

Yet, although the two surviving portions of the AUC share an overarching

didactic aim, they nevertheless have distinct lessons to offer about Roman politics.

The world of the first decade, especially of Books 2-6, with its would-be tyrants, its

divided society, its radical tribunician bills, and its civil bloodshed, would have been

all too familiar to Livy’s contemporaries, and the pertinence of Livy’s account of the

early Republic would have been obvious to an audience living with the legacy of late

Republican discordia. Although these books contain many individual positive

exempla, their portrayal of the young libera res publica as a whole – rife with internal

conflict that repeatedly threatens its very existence – functions as a negative

exemplum about social and political discord. Books 21-45, on the other hand, present

210

the reader with a vision of a mature Roman state that is characterised, above all, by

how well it functions. For the most part, the political community depicted in these

books conducts its internal affairs peacefully and efficiently, and this allows it to

endure and ultimately prevail over any external threat, even one as deadly as

Hannibal. And though by no means free of political conflict, this mature polity

demonstrates again and again its capacity to resolve its problems, to prevent them

from generating discordia on a scale comparable to that depicted in the earlier books

of the AUC, or indeed on a scale that would have been familiar to Livy’s

contemporaries. In other words, these books offer the res publica of the late third and

early second century as a positive exemplum, a lesson on the benefits of concordia.

It remains to consider the nature of this res publica, the Roman state as Livy

depicts it in Books 21-45. It will come as no surprise to any reader of Livy that his

vision of the ideal republic is élitist: the principes, individually and collectively, are

the focus of his depiction of political matters, determining the course of Roman affairs

for better or for worse, while the populus are relegated to a subordinate rôle in both

politics and the narrative as a whole. But the extent to which the Roman people is

subordinate to the ruling élite in Books 21-45 is quite remarkable. Once again, a

comparison of this thesis’ findings with those of Vasaly proves illuminating.

Vasaly’s research shows that Livy does not attribute a great deal of political

wisdom to the populus Romanus in his early books. She points out that the people are

characterised above all by their ‘emotional intensity and volatility’, with their reason

and self-control frequently gives way to ‘anger (both destructive and constructive)

and fear, but also shame, patriotic pride, greed, courage, and grief, the last often

expressed through the suffering of women’.557 The people do on occasion display

moderatio, ‘transcending emotion out of rational concern for the common welfare’,

for example by electing only patricians to the military tribunate (4.6.11) despite

having gone to great lengths to open the office up to their own order.558 More often,

however, the people are induced to pursue wise and constructive courses of action by

oratory, usually that of leading figures in the state, be they patricians or moderate

plebeians. 559 Without leaders, however, the plebs are depicted as rudderless and

557 Vasaly 2015: 98. 558 Vasaly 2015: 99. 559 Vasaly 2015: 99.

211

inarticulate, incapable of engaging effectively in public affairs, except to secessio or

violence (such is the plebs’ condition before the establishment of the tribunate and

during its suspension by the decemvirs).560 Vasaly therefore shows that the efficacy

of the people’s engagement in affairs of state depends on leadership. And although

they can be persuaded to behave with moderatio, the people do not mature as political

actors in their own right over the course of the books that are Vasaly’s subject. Using

the people’s responses to tribunician land bills as a test case, Vasaly demonstrates that

there is no discernible improvement in the political acumen of the populus in Books

2-5: the masses are every bit as susceptible to the seductive arts of the demagogue at

the end of this section of the AUC as they are at its beginning.561 The ‘populus

Romanus exhibits a fixed temperament’ in the first pentad,562 and the same is true of

the remaining extant books. In Books 21-45, the populus is still prone to emotional

outbursts (e.g. the terror and grief that grips the city after reports of Hannibal’s

victories at 22.7.6-13 and 22.54.8), and as the section on political speech in Book 22

in the preceding chapter (to say nothing of the many other examples discussed above)

shows, it is as susceptible to manipulation by demagogic orators as it ever was during

the ‘Struggles of the Orders’. It must be emphasised that this does not reflect an anti-

senatorial tendency among the people, since in Books 21-45 the people are equally

susceptible to the positive influence of scrupulous and often openly pro-senatorial

orators. In fact, in the books that have been the subject of this thesis Livy generally

does not ascribe any political agenda or motives to the populus. This is because the

plebs in these later books, unlike their ancestors, have no serious long-term political

or social grievances that might motivate them to pursue their own political goals. Only

very rarely does Livy ascribe any sort of political agenda to the populus themselves,

as opposed to a rabble-rouser from the élite who is manipulating the populus for his

own purposes. A prominent example, discussed above, is the populus’ rejection of the

bill declaring war on Macedonia. At 31.6.3, Livy explicitly attributes this remarkable

refusal to acquiesce in the will of the senate and consuls to the people’s weariness of

war (he only mentions Q. Baebius’ opportunistic speeches on the topic afterwards,

almost as an afterthought). There is another example at 26.35.4-8, in which the plebs,

pushed beyond the limits of their forbearance by a consul edict requiring all citizens

560 Vasaly 2015: 101-5. 561 Vasaly 2015: 99-101. 562 Vasaly 2015: 101.

212

to provide and equip oarsmen for the navy at their own expense, approach the brink

of seditio. Significantly, Livy explains that seditio was avoided not because the plebs

lacked cause, but because they lacked a leader (26.35.4: magis dux quam materia

seditioni deesset). Thus, even this rare display of popular autonomy reflects the

necessity of leadership in Roman politics. And that it is so rare for Livy to attribute

political initiative to the populus Romanus reveals how limited its rôle in public affairs

is in the third, fourth, and fifth decades. The people are not passive actors in the

Roman state as the historian depicts it, as they cannot always be relied upon to obey

the will of their superiors without persuasion. But nor do they play a proactive part in

politics; but for the single instance cited above, they are almost entirely reactive, their

involvement in politics dependent on the impetus provided by élite characters. The

influence of the populus Romanus on Livy’s republic, which they exert through their

assemblies, is for the most part determined and directed by the political élite.

On the other hand, this thesis has illustrated how much Rome’s internal

stability in Books 21-45 is determined by her leaders and their personal conduct. This

concurs with Vasaly’s argument that the prosperity of the Roman state in the first

pentad depends on the personal qualities of its leaders. Once again, when read

alongside scholarship on the first decade, this thesis affords a broader perspective on

the Livy’s portrayal of Roman politics that highlights both continuity and change

across the surviving books of the AUC. It demonstrates that the rôles that the historian

assigns to the political élite and the masses remain substantially unchanged in the

extant books. Livy’ senatus populusque Romanus is by no means a balanced

partnership: throughout the surviving books, the undisciplined and emotional populus

lacks political direction except when it is provided by the political élite, whose

activities, morals, and personal relations, in the senate and out of it, determine and

direct Roman affairs, for better or for worse. The fundamental arrangement at the

heart of Livy’s libera res publica does not undergo any significant changes over the

course of the extant books – even the admission of plebeians to the senate and

magistracies only expands the ruling order, without altering the balance of power

between the élite and the masses. Nevertheless, as this thesis has emphasised

throughout, there is a real change in the Roman state’s circumstances between the

early books, especially books 2-6, and Books 21-45. Since the character of the

populus Romanus has not evolved over the course of the extant books, the concordia

that characterises Livy’s republic in Books 21-45 must reflect an overall change for

213

the better in the morals and behaviour of Rome’s leaders between the first decade and

the beginning of the third. Dependent as it is on the quality of its leaders, Livy’s is

clearly an aristocratic republic.

The didactic purposes of the AUC reflect this fact. Although Books 21-45 do

contain examples of political conduct that are relevant to ordinary citizens who might

attend contiones or vote in comitia, the majority of exempla discussed in this study of

Livian politics would be strictly pertinent to members of Rome’s traditional ruling

élite. This is unsurprising, given that, in Livy’s view, it was on its leaders that the

internal peace and prosperity of the Roman state depended. Livy’s history is therefore

no less political in its aims than those of Polybius or Sallust or Tacitus: part of its

purpose, like theirs, is to offer political instruction to men in a position to benefit from

it. This thesis has shown that this particular section of the AUC, Books 21-45, fulfils

this function by presenting its readers with a vision of the Roman res publica as it

was at its height, and as it could be again, if his fellow-citizens could only learn to

emulate the habits of their ancestors at their best.

donec ad haec tempora…

Like many of his contemporaries, R. G. Collingwood found Livy’s history rather

disappointing. In his survey of historiography from antiquity to the present, he

complained that the AUC did not convey any sense of change or development in

Rome’s political history. ‘From the beginning of the narrative Rome is ready-made

and competent. To the end of the narrative she has undergone no spiritual change.’ 563

This thesis has argued, to the contrary, that the narrative in the surviving books of the

AUC does depict a political community that evolves over time. Collingwood’s

statement is quite surprising in view of the striking contrast between the res publica

of the first decade, especially Books 2-6, where self-interest and social division create

a continual state of discordia, and that of Books 21-45, characterised by its high

degree of concordia and its resilience in the face of disruptive forces from within and

without. The preceding chapters have demonstrated that this contrast is the result of

the superior moral sensibilities of Rome’s leaders in the later books. Though by no

means free of the character flaws and moral failings that generate conflict and

endanger the public interest, on the whole the political élite in these books behaves

563 Collingwood 1946: 43-4.

214

with moderatio in pursuit of personal goals and due deference to the collective will

represented by auctoritas consensusque senatus. It is this civic virtue on the part of

the Roman leadership that creates and maintains concordia maxuma in Books 21-45.

And, as argued in the preceding section, the change for the better in the condition of

the res publica between Livy’s earlier and the later extant books therefore reflects a

corresponding change for the better in the morals of Rome’s leaders, an increase in

its collective civic virtue.

Collingwood’s claim that Rome remains unchanged to the end Livy’s

narrative is all the more extraordinary given that the end of Livy’s narrative is lost,

along with the greater part of the AUC. If Livy’s history looks to modern readers like

a work of antiquarianism, with a static and idealised view of the Roman past, it is only

because his later books are not available. But of the original one hundred and twenty

books that made up Livy’s original project, fully half covered the hundred years that

preceded the start of its composition. Far from being antiquarian, Livy’s interest is

overwhelmingly in recent history. And that recent history, which culminated in the

rise of the Second Triumvirate and the proscriptions that claimed the life of Cicero,

was a history of Rome’s descent into discordia – that much is clear from the

Periochae. Significant changes to Rome’s political situation lay ahead in the AUC,

and even without knowing the details of how Livy treated this period of history it is

obvious that it entailed a breakdown in the moral order on which the concordia of the

res publica at its height, reflected in Books 21-45, was based.

This thesis makes a case for reading the extant portions of the AUC with the

lost later books in mind. Being conscious of what lies ahead can throw the broader

themes and exemplary functions of the extant books into sharper relief, as it has

Livy’s concern with discordia and with the political/moral conduct of Rome’s leaders

in the preceding chapters. It can also facilitate the interpretation of certain episodes

or sections of Livy’s history, as the final chapter of this study shows. The two case-

studies that make up that chapter demonstrate how some of the major political

problems of the late Republic – namely, charismatic but ambitious imperatores with

too high a regard for their own dignitas, and demagogic oratory that deliberately

provokes social discord and leads to misgovernment – are anticipated in Livy’s earlier

books. Thus, while Books 21-45 present Rome at the apex of its fortunes, they also

contain certain episodes that foreshadow the political decline that later books would

recount. Far from being a static and unchanging portrayal of the Roman res publica,

215

Livy’s history is the story of that polity’s development, from its birth in Books 1-10,

to its prosperous maturity, partially preserved in Books 21-45, and finally to its

collapse and dissolution.

216

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